


Tales from Wellsford Point

by rectificatory



Category: Original Work
Genre: Anal Sex, Chastity Device, Cock Cages, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Incest, M/M, Mind Control, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Oral Sex, Parent/Child Incest, Sibling Incest, Slavery, Underage Drug Use, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-19
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:22:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 17
Words: 37,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26550586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rectificatory/pseuds/rectificatory
Summary: An hypnotic collection of tales from in and around the town of Wellsford Point.
Relationships: Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Comments: 7
Kudos: 37





	1. Aran Drops Out

**Author's Note:**

> 2020-11-29: I've added a few missing chapters, and rearranged them into the proper order.

Aran Kieron Meaney was about to be set free. He had stumbled onto the most wonderful loophole imaginable. The highly intelligent and inquisitive ten-year-old boy had discovered an old law, one that he could find no evidence of ever being repealed, that stated that anyone over the age of ten could choose to remove themselves from education. His parents would be pissed at him of course, but they could not force him to remain in school. The only down-side to the whole endeavour was that he had to inform his Principal directly of his intentions.

Principal Janson always gave the impression that he was X-ray-ing you whenever he looked at you. And not in the good — looking deep inside you to discover your true potential way, but the super creepy — I'm mentally undressing you and imagining perverted things way. So, here he was, waiting for the man to call him into his office. The excitement of getting to leave this stifling place was the only thing offsetting his unease at having to be alone with the man.

“Mr. Meaney, come.” came the instruction, bellowed from the secluded office. The door was painted to resemble a heavy stained-wood door, even though it was made of the cheapest material possible, and shut with a loud *slam* as the boy closed it with unnecessary force. “Please sit.” the Principal told the boy, gesturing to the closest chair. The chair was also very cheap and uncomfortable but, like the door, made to look more appealing.

“Principal Janson,” Aran began, before the man could interrupt his carefully prepared speech, “I am invoking my right under the 'Youth in Education Decree, Section 9, Subsection 12' that states: 'Any child of a decade or older may, with their sole discretion, leave their studies at any time of their choosing.', which is what I am doing right now.” The boy waited for his Principals counter-arguments, for the man to say that he is a silly little boy if he thinks he can do such a thing. “I'm disappointed Aran, you've obviously done a lot of research into this, and you've always been one of my best student's.” Aran shuddered at the thought of being the man's best anything. “But,” continued the man, “you are well within your rights to do so, and I can see you've made your decision.”

This was going far, far better than Aran had ever hoped! Janson had just accepted his declaration without so mush as a raised eyebrow. A little voice of suspicion tried to rise up above hoots and hollers of joy going on in the boy's head, only to be swept aside by the visions of what he was going to do with all of his free time. The principal stood, and moved around his desk to stand in front of the boy, “It's been a real pleasure seeing you in my school, I'm very sad that you are going.” he told the boy as he extended his hand. Being 'seen' by the principal was what Aran would miss least when he left the building for the final time.

Aran stood too, and allowing his hand to be surrounded by the man's sweaty palm, returned the man's handshake. At least he would have if Principal Janson hadn't done something weird on the third shake. Pulling the boy's arm towards himself sharply and commanding the boy to “Drop!” startled and confused Aran just before his head fell to his chest, and he took a deep calming breath. “Good boy.” the man commended him, sending a shiver of pleasure down Aran's spine.

“Wha…?” Aran blurted out the half-formed question as he blinked. He felt unsteady on his feet, like he had just been suddenly roused from a deep slumber. “Are you OK?” the Principal asked. Aran looked into the man's concerned face, “I think…” he began before being cut off. “…You got a bit over-excited?” the man finished for him. “You look a little confused.” Janson said. Aran tried to respond again with an “I don't…”, until the man took over the conversation again. “Just follow my finger.” Aran's protests faded from his lips as his eyes focused on the index finger the man was passing in front of his face.

“That's it.” the man said encouragingly, “Left-and-right, left-and-right.” — the boy's gaze dutifully followed the finger, “Watch as it goes up, and…” the man paused as Aran strained his neck to follow the finger, “and drops.” The boy's head lolled forward and eyelids fell shut. Aran found himself floating in a relaxing void, a slight whisper of the wind passing his ears the only sensation he felt.

Aran was startled to see Janson's face so close to his own, he hadn't noticed when the man had moved into his personal space. “I…” was the only word that passed his lips this time. “Your pupils are dilated boy, I need to take a closer look to see if you are OK.” Aran could only make a sound “Uh.”, but the man didn't care if it was an acknowledgement or refusal. “Just look into my eyes boy, that's it deeper into my eyes.” the man droned on, “doing so well, deeper-and-deeper now, that's it just relax for me.” The tension as draining from the boy's face as his Principal continued, “Such a good boy, so deep for me, now…”, and with a snap of his fingers, “…drop.”

The boy wasn't sure whether he was dreaming or awake, “Give me your hand boy, I need to take your pulse.” He had to be awake, why would he ever dream about his Principal, who was staring expectantly at him, asking him that. Lifting his arm took a surprising amount of effort on Aran's part, but eventually he placed his hand in the Principals. Instead of pressing his finger's to the boy's wrist, the man flipped the hand over so that it was palm-up and brought it up in front of the boy's face. “Find a spot on your palm, and keep staring at it.” The boy had no reply, he just automatically did what he was told. “Just keep staring at that spot as you notice your had getting bigger-and-bigger, closer-and-closer…”, the man gently encouraged the hand to drift towards the boy's increasing blank face, “…and you know what happens when you hand touches your face.” There was the slightest of nods from the boy, “You…”, skin made contact with skin, “…drop.” the boy exhaled as his arm fell limply by his side.

“Feeling better now?” Principal Janson asked Aran. “Yes, sir.” he replied, still feeling a little woozy, but most of the fuzziness in his head had now dissipated. “There is just one more thing before you leave.” the man told the boy. Leave? Leave where? Slowly the memory came back to him. He had out-smarted his Principal, he was leaving the school for good. “What, sir?” he asked politely, there was no need to be rude if he was never going to see the man again. “You need to hand in the key to your locker.” the man reminded him, “Oh, yes, here it is.” Aran pulled the leather thong from around his neck, holding it out to the man, the bright silvery key dancing at the bottom of the loop.

The Principal took it from him, “Hmm, are you sure this is yours?” he asked, letting the key swing in his grasp. The boy's eyes followed its sideways motion, “Look at it, you need to be sure.” It was hard to tell now if it was his key, the motion made him feel a bit dizzy. “Can you stop it from moving.” the boy asked, “You know what will happen if it stops moving, don't you?” the man asked, “Yeah,” Aran told him, “it will…drop.” The boy gasped as he said the last word, his eye lost their focus as they tried to follow the keys journey down to the ground. Aran was gone before the key made a soft *thump* as it hit the floor, “Yes boy, you drop.” the man said as he watched the boy sway as he said that special word again.

It was a very good idea to plant that article on the school computer system, Principal Janson thought to himself, it was always the smart ones that were easiest to capture. They had already defeated the big bad Principal, so they didn't need to put up any defences when they came to gloat. Janson was almost embarrassed for the boy, seeing how easily he had succumbed to such basic techniques. But what to do with the boy now he wondered, checking his diary he saw to his dismay that he had a full schedule today, sadly he no time to play with his prize. Unless… His next meeting looked to be utterly inane, perhaps installing the boy under the desk and having him lick his Principals sweaty balls would be an antidote to the upcoming tedium. Unfastening his belt and pushing down his slacks, Principal Janson ordered Aran into position.


	2. YouTube Famous

“Hey Mate, you wanna be in a viral video?” The boy opened his mouth to begin to respond, but was quickly cut off by Harley's spiel, “Of course you do! How wouldn't! Just look at this.” He held up a slim faceted crystal before the boy's eyes. Up close now, Harley revised his estimation of the boy's age, he looked to be about 13 — maybe getting closer to 14 — judging by the peach fuzz covering his top lip. “That's it, you're better than all of those little kids already, they stopped looking at the crystal after just a few seconds.” That was a trick a lot of the other guys missed when trying to entrance a teenager, you've got to inflate their ego, pretend that you recognize that they are better than all the other younger kids they get forced to hang out with.

“Yeah, that's right, you can keep your focus right on it can't you, because you're so much more mature.” The boy nodded slightly, causing Harley to grin broadly — yes, he was coming along nicely. “I bet people don't know how smart you really are, do they…” there was a pause of only a couple of seconds before the boy followed his prompt, “Jody.” With a flick of the wrist, Harley made the crystal dance on it's chain as a reward and the boy's eyes widened in surprise. “But everyone will know how smart you are when you are famous, won't they, and all you have to do it keep looking at my crystal.”

'Jody', that stupid name explained the boy's current attire, his faded black t-shirt and jeans — 'artfully' ripped — and the fingernails painted black, he was rebelling against his parents for giving him a crappy name. “You can see it inside, right in the middle, can't you Jody? That special part deep, deep inside.” Harley didn't really need to pay attention to his induction any more, he had done it so many times to so many boys, all he had to do was occasionally make sure that the boy still drifting deeper into his power as he checked out their bodies. It was the kid's blonde hair that had initially attracted Harley to him, so different to his dark and drab clothes as it shone golden in the sunlight, the 18-year-old man thought to himself.

“Just watch as the sunlight shines through and reflects off the crystal as you drift deeper, letting that drowsiness slowly starts to build.” Harley wondered why the kid hadn't also dyed his hair black. Maybe he didn't want to upset mommy and daddy too much, or maybe it was some bullshit 'duality of man' — angelic hair, demonic dress — fashion that was currently popular, and to be honest he didn't care, and it wouldn't matter once he had the kid under his control, the boy wouldn't know what was happening. “And your eyes may start to feel tired, but that just shows how much you are concentrating.” The kid was getting close now, Harley could draw it out, maybe wake him up a little before taking him down again – the man did so enjoy the look of confusion and fear in their young faces, just before he wiped it off again with his honeyed words. Looking down at the boy, who was a full head shorter than his own 1.8 m body, he decided instead that a nice sharp shock would be the thing to finish the boy off.

Harley brought his full attention to bear on the boy now, he needed to give the final command at just the right moment. “You are drifting so deep now, eyes barely able to stay open. Doing so well, you're going to show everyone that you are the best at going into trance for me.” There was a slight intake of breath at the word 'trance', and a tensing of the body in anticipation. Harley adored it when some small part of his subjects realized what was about to happen to them. “Yes, you are so smart, and you know what's going to happen when I say that special word in just a moment, don't you?” Again he received a small nod of agreement. “You'll close you eyes completely, slip into a wonderful trance, and do whatever I tell you to, won't you?” Another nod. “Get ready, I'm going to say it.” Harley paused, as much as he loved to see these kids go under, he loved teasing them too. “I'm going to say that special word in 3, 2, 1…”

§

“Sleep!” Jody's right hand lashed out and yanked the crystal from Harley's grip startling him, at the same time he passed his left hand in front of the man's eyes — which followed it and closed firmly — before letting it come to rest on his chest to stop the man from pitching forward and ending up face down in the dirt. “Fuckin' amateurs.” Jody muttered as he observed the man as he righted his own posture automatically. Raising the 'crystal' up to his bright blue eyes once again, Jody examined it with undisguised contempt. Tapping it with one of the fingernails on his now free left hand, he confirmed what he had suspected from the moment the man had dangled it in front of his face — it was plastic. “Cheapskate.” he said, with a hint of disappointment in his voice, as he cast the piece of trash aside.

“In a moment I'm going to tell you to open your eyes, when you do you will remain in this state and follow all of my orders. Do you understand?” Jody spoke rapidly but clearly to the man. “Yes.” came the man's replay. “Yes what?” demanded the boy. “Yes, Master.” Harley answered in a submissive tone. “Don't give me any of that 'Master' shit. I asked you a question, I expect you to answer fully and completely, not like a monosyllabic moron.” Harley filched as Jody berated him, “Yes, I understand.” he answered again in a clear voice. “Open your eyes and follow me then.” the boy commanded.

“Tell me what you were planning to do with me after you *scoff* hypnotized me.” Jody asked as they walked. Turning to his left slightly, and pointing with an outstretched arm, Harley indicated a small building — a shabby toilet block — further up the path that they were currently on. “I was going to take you there and fuck you.” Jody rolled his eyes, “How unpredictable,” his words dripped with sarcasm, “I would never have imagined you doing that.” As they walked, Jody considered what to do with the man, and as they drew level with the building, ordered him to stop. “You know, I've always been a bit fan of ironic punishments, let's go inside.”

§

The place smelled as bad as it looked, the odour of stale piss and cum assaulted the boy's nostrils as they entered. Silently pointing to a stall, the man entered first, followed by the boy who lock the door behind them. “I'm not going to fuck you, my dick is going nowhere near that dirty arse of yours, so I'll have to settle for this. Sit down.” The man started to unfasten his belt, “Keep your fucking pants on man, I don't want to see your shrivelled little sausage. Just put the lid down and sit on it.” Shucking down his own jeans and the thong hidden underneath them — 'I knew he'd be wearing a thong', the thought bubbled up through the inky depths of Harley's mind before it popped just as quickly — he presented the man with his, slightly under-developed, 4.2 cm flaccid cock. “Suck me.”

10 minutes later, Jody's cock was nowhere near its usual 12 cm erect length — in fact it was currently less than half that — owing to the lacklustre work the man was performing on it. “For fucks sake, I want you to make me cum.” Jody barked at the man. The effect of this order surprised the boy, for some reason only known to the man, 'suck my cock' and 'make me cum' were two vastly different things. Just as the man let Jody's cock slip from his mouth, the boy prepared a stinging appraisal of the man's lack of effort, but he hissed as cool air was blown over his moistened and exposed glans with a pleasantly painful tickling sensation dancing across it's surface. “Son of a bitch!” he gasped out as his cock twitched and firmed. It only to a couple more lungfuls of air passing over his rapidly engorging penis for it to achieve a hardness the boy had never experienced.

Seemingly satisfied with the state of Jody's cock, Harley once more took the head back into his mouth, clamping his lips around the ridge of the boy's over-stimulated head. The man's right hand took hold of the boy's balls and started to squeeze them gently. Jody moaned, but the discomfort was slight, just as with his dickhead moments earlier. The intended destination of the middle finger of the man's left hand should not of surprised Jody, given the man's confession of several minutes ago, but being caught up in the sensations assailing his body, it did. The man's finger rested on Jody's rosebud exerting a constant, but gentle pressure, as if waiting to be invited in. A more forceful squeeze of his balls convinced Jody to let the man's finger enter him unopposed, sliding its full length in before it started to work his prostate.

With the right-hand rolling the testes in their sack in one direction, and the left middle finger slowly tracing circles on the prostate in the opposite direction, Jody moaned and groaned contentedly, even though the man was yet to start his action on the boy's cock. He gasped as the man's dexterous tongue probed at his piss-slit and smeared the flowing pre-cum over the tip. Frequently, and at random interval, the direction of motion used by hand and finger were reversed, each time giving the boy a little thrill of pleasure that ran up his spine. All at once, Jody noticed that the man's tongue had slipped to the underside of his cock-head and this, coupled with both hand and finger rotating in the same direction — clockwise — made Jody's legs feel weak.

The man had started, ever so slowly, to swallow the boy's cock. Centimeter-by-centimeter it was enveloped, dragged across that man's flattened tongue, providing Jody with sensations he had never felt before. After an excruciating minute's travel, the boy's dick had disappeared into the man's welcoming mouth. Then suddenly the motion of the hand and finger changed again, rotating counter-clockwise as the man's mouth withdrew from the boy's aching cock. Several cycles later — the boy lost count how many times his cock had been swallowed to it's root then released — and with just the head of his dick in the man's mouth, Jody felt his stomach clench, “I'm going to cum!” he announced loudly.

For a brief moment, all motion stopped, then Jody's balls were pulled downwards in their sack, the opposite direction that they were struggling to go — it wasn't pleasant feeling and it wasn't painful either, it just was. The finger in his ass withdrew temporarily, getting only so far as the knuckle popping out of the spasming hole before it was pushed back inside where it was dragged over the throbbing gland, milking it. In the split-second that all of this had begun happening, the man's tongue had become a sharp point and was now stabbing the V of the boy's glans, stimulating his neglected frenulum. A strange numbness came over the rest Jody's body — only his cock, balls and ass seemed to have any feeling left in them — as he continued his climax. Shot-after-shot of thick cum erupted from the boy's cock and was eagerly swallowed by the man.

His breathing finally returned to normal, Jody unsteadily fixed his jeans, fumbling with the zipper. Looking down at the still entranced man, Jody couldn't help but compliment him. “You may be a D- hypnotist, but you're an A+ cocksucker.”

§

Before parting after their first encounter in the park Jody offered Harley a challenge. If the man could hypnotize him, Jody would willingly let himself be fucked by the man, but each time the man failed he would meet Jody in the same toilet block and suck the boy’s cock again. Harley has failed several times, will he be successful with his next attempt?

What follows is an excerpt from a conversation in Jody’s ‘ChatApp’ group that Harley became a member of.

ChatApp: Harley (CS), welcome back to ‘Jody’s Hypno Place’ group.

Harley (CS): <Jody (H)> https://webhypno.nato/sub-spiral-slow

Jody (H): Hey cocksucker!

Jody (H): Whoa, trip-y, where’d you find that?

Harley (CS): Just browsing, you like?

Jody (H): Yeah, got it open on laptop, even better on big screen

Harley (CS): You can still see it while chatting on your phone then?

Jody (H): Yeah

Harley (CS): You mean Yes

Jody (H): Yes :p

Harley (CS): Good I wanna chat about our deal

Jody (H): OK, giving up so soon?

Harley (CS): No

Harley (CS): You?

Jody (H): Haha no

Harley (CS): Good, just thought you might be losing focus after last time

Jody (H): What, big blocks of run together text with words like drop highlighted

Jody (H): You thought that would hypnotize me

Jody (H): Hahahahaha

Jody (H): Hahahaha

Harley (CS): No just soften you up

Harley (CS): Hey <Jody (H)> you still there

Jody (H): Yeah, just distracted

Harley (CS): You mean Yes

Jody (H): Yes, just distracted

Harley (CS): By what?

Harley (CS): <Jody (H)> chat to me, by what?

Jody (H): The spiral, the colours

Jody (H): I can see, remember the colours

Harley (CS): Do you like the colours?

Jody (H): Yes

Jody (H): Should I?

Harley (CS): Yes

Jody (H) Good, that’s good

Harley (CS): what else do you like?

Jody (H): It’s spinning, I like it, remember it spinning

Jody (H): Round and round

Jody (H): Round and round

Harley (CS): Yes, spinning round and round

Jody (H): Good

Jody (H): Can see words

Harley (CS): What words?

Jody (H): Slow

Jody (H): Sink

Jody (H): Sleep

Jody (H): More words, can’t see

Harley (CS): Just look closer and relax

Jody (H): Yes can remember

Jody (H): Can’t see it

Jody (H): Help me

Harley (CS): Slave

Jody (H): Slave

Harley (CS): Good

Jody (H): Good slave

Harley (CS): Yes

Jody (H): Jody’s Slave

Harley (CS): Yes

Jody (H): Good boy, <Harley (CS)>

Harley (CS): Yes

Jody (H): :)

Harley (CS): You fucker!

Jody (H): I think you own me a blowjob, cocksucker!

Harley (CS): I HYPNOTIZED YOU!

Jody (H): Nah, I was just playing with you again ;)

Harley (CS): Fine

Jody (H): Aww, don’t pout baby Harley

Jody (H): You are getting a little better

Harley (CS): I don’t need your pity or your sarcasm

Jody (H): What about my advice?

Harley (CS): You wanna help me hypnotize you?

Jody (H): Let’s just say I want it to at least be a challenge

Harley (CS): Fine, give me your words of wisdom oh wise and powerful one /s

Jody (H): OK, the spiral might work on a newbie, if they’re really dumb

Jody (H): But try something fun first to get their attention, don’t go straight for the slave stuff

Harley (CS): I thought you’d be into that

Jody (H): I don’t trance people to have power over them, I do it because it’s fun

Harley (CS): You seem to like having power over me

Jody (H): That’s because your a limp dick who can do much better

Jody (H): Now shut up and let me teach

Harley (CS): Sorry, go ahead, Sir

Jody (H): If your gonna send a spiral, at least disguise it

Jody (H): Like when I send my friends a porno to watch

Jody (H): Like this:

Jody (H): https://linkbox.nato/pSgE9eht

Jody (H): Have a look!

Harley (CS): A spiral with ‘Say I’m Jody’s bitch’ flashing in front of it

Harley (CS): Subtle

Jody (H): See what I mean, you watched it for like 2 second before you noticed and closed it

Jody (H): Try this one: https://linkbox.nato/kWVt9noH

Harley (CS): But it’s just a bunch of coloured dots

Jody (H): Count how many colours there are

Harley (CS): 5

Jody (H): Are you sure?

Jody (H): Count again

Harley (CS): I think there’s 7?

Jody (H): Good

Jody (H): How many blue dots?

Harley (CS): About 20

Jody (H): Good

Jody (H): How about the green ones?

Harley (CS): Same, about 20

Jody (H): How many red ones can you count?

Harley (CS): Same again, about 20

Jody (H): How many exactly, count them all

Harley (CS): There are moving all over, it’s too hard to count them all

Jody (H): You can do it!

Jody (H): Just try and count as many as you can

Harley (CS): 27

Harley (CS) No, it’s 29

Jody (H): Good

Jody (H): Promise me you’ll suck my cock

Harley (CS): I promise I’ll suck your cock

Harley (CS): Whoa!

Jody (H): Good

Jody (H): :)

Jody (H): Now that’s how to use a spiral to distract someone :p

*Harley (CS) sighs*

Harley (CS): Usual time?

Jody (H): Yeah, I mean, Yes ;)


	3. Would You Kindly

Justin pressed the doorbell for a second time and was starting to get annoyed with his friend for not getting to the door sooner. It had started to rain as Justin rode his bike down main street, and continued to fall more heavily as he completed his journey. If the door wasn't answered soon his hoodie would be soaked through, and he'd have to ask Nikolas if he could borrow some clothes.

Preparing to pound on the frosted glass window and yell through the mailbox, Justin was startled when the door was pulled open. “Finally Nik, what were you doing, I'm drenched!” he complained as he pushed past his friend pulling down his hood and shaking off a few droplets of rain that clung to his chestnut brown fringe.

“Not Nik.” said the tall figure as he closed and locked the door behind Justin.

Surprised by the deep voice that answered him, Justin turned on the spot to face the man blocking his only exit.

“Gaz! You're supposed to be at Uni., aren't you?”

“Professor's out sick, so I've got the week free.” Gary told him, smiling broadly. “So I thought I'd come visit everyone.”

“Oh.” said Justin, unable to hide the disappointment in his voice. He had hoped to spend the day with his friend playing video games but if Nik's brother was visiting, he wouldn't want Justin hanging around too. “I don't want to get in the way, I'll just go home.” he told the man.

“Don't worry about it, I'm just about done with Nik, then you can keep him entertained.” This would work to his advantage, having someone to distract his little brother, he needed to work on his essay and Nikolas hadn't left him alone for the 2 days he had been here already.

As Justin followed his friend's brother in to the lounge he felt his stomach clench in fear. Nikolas was sat on the couch in an unusual position. It took a moment for him to realize why he was scared as he looked at his friend. Nikola's limbs were set in a slightly awkward position, as if he were a puppet that just had its strings cut. It reminded him of the when enemies in their favourite games died and turned in to rag-dolls.

“Take a deep breath in, feeling the air bringing you closer to wakefulness and filling your body with energy.” Justin became aware that Gary was speaking to Nikolas and watched as his friend's chest rose and slowly fell again.

“One more breath and you'll be completely awake and full of energy.” Nikolas seemed to float up and off the couch as he took this final breath. His green eyes sliding open and re-focusing on the room, Nikolas stretched out his arms and legs, much like a cat waking from it's hours-long slumber.

“Hey Justin!” Nikolas greeted his friend whilst stifling a yawn, “is it 2 o'clock already?” Justin stared in amazement as Nikolas, who just moments ago was a lifeless body sprawled on the couch, and now was suddenly full of life.

“Yeah it is.” he said slowly, “What was that just now?” he asked looking from brother to brother for an answer.

“Gaz has been practising his hypnosis techniques on me,” Nikolas said, as if it was the most natural thing in the world for his friend to walk in on, “He's studying Psychology, remember?”

Honestly, Justin didn't — Nikolas tended to go on-and-on about his brother, worshipped him even, and Justin normally just filtered it out of their conversations, his replies of “Uh huh.”, “Yep.” or “Cool.” were usually sufficient to keep Nikolas from knowing the topic bored him.

“Oh, yeah, you told me all about it.” Justin hoped his reply didn't sound forced and that his friend believed him.

“Would you like to try it?” Justin didn't realize the question was directed at him, “I could use all the practice I can get.”

“Yeah Justin, you should do it, it's cool! You will, won't you?” Nikolas said energetically.

“Do what?” Justin asked confused by the questions coming at him from both brothers.

“Try being hypnotized by me.” Gary clarified, “Have you ever been hypnotized before?”

“No, but I don't…” Justin started to say before he was grabbed and literally thrown onto the couch by his best friend.

“Nikolas,” Gary said sternly, “if he doesn't want to we're not going to force him.”

“But you'll love it, I know you will. Please?” Nikolas begged Justin.

“Nikolas!” Gary repeated, this time with much more forcefully as well as raising his right hand “You are getting excited, too excited, you need to calm down.”

Nikolas' eyes darted between his brothers face and outstretched hand. Gulping and casting his eyes downward he apologized to the others, “Sorry Gaz, Sorry Just.”

Looking down at Justin with a softer expression on his face, Gary told him that “If you don't want to be hypnotized, that's totally your choice. Nik can get a bit intense after a session, so I hope you can forgive him.”

“Of course I do.” mumbled Justin looking at his friend, “But I'm still not sure I want to be hypnotized, it was a bit weird seeing Nik zonked out like that.” he told Gary.

“I understand completely,” that man said without a trace of conceit, “but how about this: we do a few simple exercises to see how responsive to hypnosis you would be, then take it from there?”

Justin mulled this over and decided that he would try. After all Nik seemed to have enjoyed it, and the idea of being hypnotized was giving him an odd mixture of sensations — scared and excited at the same time.

“Yes!” Nikolas shouted as he jumped up-and-down on the spot, his wavy blond hair dancing in the air.

Gary was knelt in front of Justin, who was still sat on the couch, “Okay, just follow my instructions, and try to have fun.”

Gary's hazel eyes met Justin's blue as the man started to speak.

“I want you to, slowly, take a deep breath in and hold it for a few seconds.”

“Good, now let it out, again slowly, well done.”

“I want you to keep up that rhythm, in-an-out.”

“There's no need to talk, just keep breathing.” Gary forestalled Justin's response as he saw the boy's mouth start to form a word.

“You're doing well, just take a little longer to take in that breath.”

“Keep holding it a little longer too.”

“In a moment, I'm going to take hold of your hands, you can just let it happen.”

“All you need to focus on right now is your breathing.”

Gary gently lifted Justin's hands off on his lap and pressed that palms together, bringing them up to chest height. It looked like Justin was praying as he stared into the man's eyes.

“Good, you can keep your hand there without thinking about it can't you.” it wasn't a question it was a statement.

Gary continued before Justin could give any form of acknowledgement.

“Now, as you are breathing, you'll notice something happening.”

“Each time you exhale, you'll notice that a few of the thoughts and feelings floating around in your head go with that breath.”

Gary waited until Justin was breathing out again before continuing.

“Each time you exhale, your head is getting emptier-and-emptier.”

Gary let Justin go through the cycle of inhaling and exhaling a few more times before going on.

“It's happening quicker now, more of those thought, more of those feelings leaving you each time.”

“Now you are noticing another thing happening at the same time.”

“Each time you in hale, you are filling that empty space with my words.”

“Filling it with my thoughts and my instructions.”

“It's nothing that you need to think about, in fact if you do think about it, that thought will drift away that next time you exhale.”

“There is one more thing that you will notice now, your hands.”

“Your hands will stay stuck together, just as they are now, until one of two things happen.”

“The first is if there is an emergency, if you or someone else would be hurt if you couldn't use your hands, they'll immediately become unstuck.”

“Secondly, if I give you an instruction to unstick, or even re-stick, them you'll do so.”

Justin could barely hear what Gary said to him next, even though the man's lips were tickling his ear, it sounded like he was speaking from miles away.

Then, suddenly, Justin could hear Gary as clearly as he had done previously.

“You've done so well, it's time to come back and join Nik & I.”

“From now on, when you exhale, you'll only be exhaling air, all your thoughts and feelings will stay in you head.”

“And when you inhale, everything that left your head, will gradually come back.”

“As you keep breathing, you'll naturally come back to wakefulness, you can take as much time as you need.”

“Mm,” Justin moaned as he looked around the room, “That was fun.”, looking to his right he wasn't at all shocked to see his friend collapsed on the couch like he had been when Justin arrived.

Gary chuckled, “Didn't notice you had a companion on your journey, eh?” he asked the boy.

“When? How?… What?” he asked confused, he didn't really know what he was trying to ask.

“I've hypnotized him a lot of times now, and sometimes he just can't help himself, and just follows along. You didn't notice when he went under?”

“No.” answered Justin, then with a sudden shout he glared at Gary, “I can't pull my hands apart! You hypnotized me!”

“Yeah,” Gary said, looking a little sheepish, “I did tell you that we were going to see how receptive you were to hypnosis. The answer is 'very'. Are you mad at me?”

“Nah, we're cool.” Justin said as he tried to pry his hands apart and failing miserably.

§

Nik was excitedly jabbering away about how cool it was that Justin had been hypnotized, and that he had gone under again too. Justin wasn't listening to what he was saying, but was trying to figure out how he could go about the rest of his life with his hands stuck together. It only took a few minutes to realize that it would be futile to try to force them apart. There was only one likely way that it would ever happen; if Gary decided to instruct him to let them come apart.

Justin began to consider the practical aspects of his predicament, and without entirely meaning to, voiced one of them. “How would I take my shirt off?”

“That's easy,” Gary said as he crouched in front of Justin again looking the boy in the eye, “In a moment your hands will part just enough to left your shirt slip past them, and then they will stick back together, stronger than before.”

“Stronger?” was all he got to say before Gary grabbed the hem of his shirt and pulled it up and over his head. Inside out now, the shirt was pulled towards his wrists, and when it made contact, Justin's hands did part slightly as Gary forced the garment through the gap.

Looking in amazement at the pile of cloth that Gary had just thrown onto his lap, Justin asked the man “How am I supposed to get it back on?”

As he walked away into the adjoining dining room, Gary said “Dunno, that's your problem now.”, before sitting at the table and pulling his laptop towards himself.

Stupefied, and with his mouth hanging open, Justin was shaken back to reality by his Friend. “Let's go up to my room.”

“But he!” Justin spluttered as Nikolas lead his away.

“I know, but you don't want to disturb him while he's working, trust me.” Nikolas said solemnly.

Nikolas bounded up the stairs, taking two at a time before he was called back by his friend. “Can you come back down, and follow me up. I'm not sure if I can make it up OK.” said Justin gesturing with his hypnotically bound hands.

“Just on foot in front of the other, that's right.” Nikolas told Justin in a babying tone.

“You're lucky my hands are stuck,” Justin muttered darkly, “otherwise I'd strangle you.”

Sitting next to each other on Nikola's unmade, and very untidy, bed Justin asked him if his brother had ever done anything like what he had done to Justin to him.

“Yeah, a few times, but its mostly…” Nikolas mimed zipping his mouth shut.

Justin laughed and said, “I wouldn't mind him teaching me how to do that.”, which earned his a playful punch on the arm.

“What are we gonna do then?” asked Nikolas.

“Well, I've been thinking about it, and you're going to have to hold my dick while I pee.”

“Ugh, no! You can sit down like a girl if you need to go.”

“We can play on my Xbox.” Nikolas suggested eventually, but with a withering look from Justin he corrected himself, “Well you can watch me play. You wanna pick?”

Annoyed, but knowing there was nothing either of them could do to resolve the situation, Justin stood and walked over to the selves that housed Nikolas' impressive collection of games. Casting his eye over the almost overwhelming selection, Justin noticed one box that protruded slightly. “What did you play last, Nik?” he asked his friend.

“Halo 5, I think. Why?” replied Nikolas.

“No reason.” he told his friend as he passed over the out-of-place game. Back-and-forth Justin's eyes roamed over the myriad green cased games, each time gravitating towards the one that stuck out. 'Stuck', the word struck a chord with Justin. Carefully placing his glued fingers on the top edge of the case, he flipped in downwards so that it was resting on the long edge. Teasing it carefully outwards to separate it from its brothers, the plastic rectangle was revealed enough for Justin to awkwardly wedge it between his left cheek and his hands.

Head cocked to the side to aid his grip on the box, Justin walked over to Nikolas and dropped to his knees in front of his friend. Releasing his hold on the game, it fell into the other boy's lap. “Bioshock, the original.” he stated unnecessarily as both boys read the title, render in its Art Deco style font.

“Bioshock.” Nikolas repeated, a devilish grin playing on his face. “Would you kindly…”

Justin recognized the words, and they sent a shiver of that same excited-scariness along his spine, and he waited with bated breath for his friend to finish the sentence.

There was no planning involved in Nikolas' subsequent choice of words, up until that moment he had not considered that Gary would have left any extra 'surprises' for he and Justin to find, “…make yourself cum.”

“Fuck you.” was all Justin managed to blurt out before his brain went into overdrive trying to figure out how to follow Nikolas' instruction.

“I can't jack off!” Justin complained as he waved his stuck hands in Nikolas' direction.

“You'll just have to think of some other way to do it then.” he said, not bothering to hide his delight at his friend's predicament.

Wedging his hands between his body and his trousers, Justin pushed them down peeling both his pants and underwear from his body. Flushing red with the embarrassment of stripping in front of his friend he scanned the room desperately looking for something that would help him.

“Right!” he shouted triumphantly, “That'll do!”, and jumping onto Nikolas' bed (knocking his friend to the ground in the process) Justin struggled to drag the single pillow that was there towards himself.

“What are you doing?” Nikolas asked as he stood up, rubbing his butt. “No!” he exclaimed as he realized his friend's plan.

Justin had managed to pull the pillow under himself and started to hump it for all he was worth.

“Dude, that's my pillow!” Nikolas wailed as his friend's humping pick up speed.

Looking over his shoulder Justin said, “Well, you should have thought of that before you were a dick!”

Nikolas was about to reach out to pull Justin off of his bed when a deep voice behind them interrupted him. “What going on here?”

Before Nikolas could respond Justin told Gary, very briefly, what exactly had happened. “He told me to make myself cum!”

This announcement didn't seem to surprise him, instead he looked like a man who's Machiavellian plans were coming to fruition. Raising his right hand, Gary spoke authoritatively to Nikolas, “Nikolas *snap* stop.”

And to Justin's amazement he did, in fact he stopped completely, not talking, not moving, nothing. Gary moved closer to his brother and posing him like a mannequin, turned him to face Justin.

“You can start again when Justin tells you he has cum.” Gary spoke into Nikolas' ear, just loudly enough for Justin to hear too.

Gary left the room to the sound of silence from his brother and the sounds of pleasure from Justin as the boy repeatedly rubbed his hard and leaking cock against the rough material of his best friends pillow.

“Oh yeah.” Justin groaned as his climax came to an end, his cum soaking in to grey fabric. “Nik, I've…” the last word was muffled as he gagged himself with the inside of his left elbow.

Although his expression did not, and could not, change the look in Nikolas' eyes told him that his friend was pissed off at him for finding a loophole in Gary's instructions.

Gasping for air as he uncovered his mouth, Justin's arm was miraculously faster than his mouth and the word were sniffled once more.

Twice more Justin was able to prevent himself from uttering the words that would release his statuesque friend, but he was becoming light-headed because of the limited amount of oxygen his brain was receiving between attempts to prolong Nikolas' stillness.

“I've made myself cum.” he gasped out before taking a refreshing lungful of air.

“Dude,” Nikolas moaned despondently, “that's my only pillow, and now it's soaked with your jizz.”

Taking pity on his friend, Justin stripped off the pillow case and examined the damage done to the pillow proper.

“It's just a little damp, it'll dry out.” he said, throwing it at his friend who shriek and dived out the way.

After he had caught his breath, and Nikolas had deposited the soiled pillow case in his wash basket, Justin rose from the bed (still naked) and walked to the bedroom door. Calling down the stairs to his friend's brother, he asked “Gary, can you unstick my hands now, I need to clean myself up.”

§

Hair still a little damp from his shower, Justin sat on his friend’s bed enthusing about his first experience with hypnosis. “It’s pretty cool, isn’t it.” Nikolas agreed, “I like Gaz doing it to me almost as much as he does.” he added with a smile. As if on cue, Nikolas’ older brother called up to the boys, summoning them back downstairs.

“All cleaned up?” Gary asked Justin as he entered the lounge, gesturing for both boys to sit on the sofa. Justin nodded as he dropped onto cushions at one end, Nikolas the other and Gary taking the middle.

“I’ve had an idea boys,” he started says, addressing Justin “since our little hypnosis gang has expanded, and I’m due to be back at Uni’ next week, how about if Justin has a go at doing it?” he finished looking over to Nikolas, and waited for his brother’s response.

Nikolas’ eye lit up, “Do you think he could do it? Do you think he would do it?” he asked his brother quickly. “Do what?” Justin interrupted. Neither brother answered him, Gary just told Nikolas, “Yeah, I think he could handle it.”

“What? Are you going to hypnotize me again?” Justin asked, getting frustrated that he was being ignored. He hadn’t been lying when he told Nikolas that he had enjoyed being hypnotized by Gary, but he was still a little unsure about having to follow his friend’s instructions, especially if they were all going to be so embarrassing.

“No,” said Gary, “I was thinking that if I’m not going to be here to hypnotize Nik, maybe you could.” Justin blinked a couple of time, trying to process what Gary had said. “Maybe I could what?” he asked, feeling very confused. “You could hypnotize Nik whenever I’m away at University. You’ve seen that he enjoys it, and he trusts you too, so you would be the perfect candidate.”

No. Justin still couldn’t quite grasp when he was being asked to do. “But I can’t...” he said, “How would I...” he added. Looking from one brother to the other, hoping one of them would explain, preferably in short, easy to understand words.

“A bit much to take in?” asked Gary kindly. “Uh, yeah.” replied Justin. “I’m not sure I want him inside my head if he’s going to be this dumb.” said Nikolas with a laugh and a smirk. Gary’s face darkened slightly as he turned to his younger brother. “Oh no. I know that look.” Nikolas started to say, trying to bring his hands up to his ears. “Brother Dearest.” Gary said in a calm measured voice, and Nikolas went limp.

Smiling apologetically, and speaking soothingly, Gary placed a hand on Justin’s shoulder. “He’s OK.” he reassured the boy, “He doesn’t like me using that one, but sometimes I have to if he’s getting too obnoxious.” Justin stared at his friend in shock, and if he was being honest with himself, a little bit of awe. “He’s hypnotized again.” he said, stating the obvious.

“Yes, quickly and deeply.” said Gary nodding. “But he likes being hypnotized, but not like this?” Justin asked confused. “He,” Gary said before pausing, choosing his words carefully, “likes being hypnotized, and he likes going deep, but prefers the journey much more than the destination.” Justin pondered this for a moment, “So, he doesn’t like you doing that, because it’s too fast.” he asked, hoping he was starting to understand what was going on a little better.

“Exactly!” exclaimed Gary, pleased that Justin understood. “If you want to do this, I’ll give you a trigger to use on him, like that one.” Gary said, sounding like an enthusiastic teacher, “For emergencies only, you understand.” he added with a wink. ‘Emergencies, like when he’s being a brat.’ thought Justin.

Nikolas was pouting. “If I’m going to teach him, I’m going to teach him everything.” Gary told his brother, “It’s everything or nothing, your choice.” Hobson would have put it more elegantly, Gary knew.

“I hope when Gaz sets one of them up for you to use, he makes you call me ‘Daddy Dearest’.” Nikolas told Justin with a leer, “That’ll make it, almost, okay if you had to say that every-time.” Justin smirked back, “No, all I have to say is ‘Hey butt-head’ and you’ll go out like a light.” adding a snap of his fingers. Nikolas flinched slightly, expecting the warm, syrupy feeling to flow over his mind as his friend said those words, but nothing happened. Except for Justin busting out in laughter.

“Next we’ve got a double feature for you two. Nik, you get to go into trance nice and slow, and Justin, you get to see what going into trance is like from the outside.” Justin turned to look at his friend who was adjusting his position on the sofa. Justin had already seen the aftermath of one of Nikolas’ trances, the loose and limp body melted into the sofa when he had first arrived, so he was curious to see the process that caused it.

“What shall I go up to?” Nikolas asked his brother. Taking a moment to consider, Gary replied “100 should be OK, I’ve got a few paragraphs I want to add to my essay, I’ll check up on you when I’m done.” Nikolas turned to his friend, smiling broadly, he couldn’t wait to see Justin’s reaction.

Drawing in a deep breath and letting it out slowly, Nikolas began to count. “One, and I am hypnotized.” Justin gasped. “Two, and I am hypnotized.” Justin was holding his breath. “Three, and I am hypnotized.” Justin breathed out a low “Whoa.” Nikolas continued, keeping his breathing steady, counting and reciting his mantra. “Seventeen, and I am hypnotized.” Justin licked his lips as he watched his friend visibly relaxing. “Twenty-four, and I am hypnotized.” Justin was watching his friend intently.

“Thirty-seven, and I am hypnotized.” Justin’s cock was stirring in his pants as he stared into his friend’s glassy eyes. “Fifty-one, and I am hypnotized.” Justin was fully erect, his lips parting slightly as he listened to Nikolas’ continued litany. “Sixty-eight, and I am hypnotized.” Justin’s precum was creating an ever expanding wet spot in his briefs. “Seventy-seven, and I am hypnotized.” Justin’s precum was flowing out of the tip of his cock in an unending torrent.

“Ninety-two, and I am hypnotized.” Justin’s briefs were flooded and beyond saving, if he had been aware of this fact he would have made a mental note to ask Nikolas to borrow a clean pair, but he was not. “One-hundred, and I am hypnotized.” Justin heard the contented sigh coming from his friend as he watched the other boy’s eyes slam shut.

“Sorry, that took a bit longer than I thought.” Gary said as he approached the sofa. “Oh my.” he chuckled, observing the two boys. He had expected to find Nikolas in his present condition, slouched on the sofa, the epitome of mindless relaxation. Justin’s condition, while not wholly unexpected, was a welcome sight. Vacant eyed, silently mouthing words and a noticeable tent in his pants, Gary smiled as he watched Justin slip further into trance.

Sitting next to the boy, Gary spoke softly to him. “Tell me how far you’ve got.” Justin’s lips continued moving soundlessly for a little while before he spoke, “Hundred-and-twenty-seven, and I’m hypnotized.” Gary could have sat and watched Justin take himself deeper for hours-and-hours, but now was not the time to do it. “You’re deep enough, you can stop counting.” he told the thoroughly entranced teen, and with a sigh Justin’s eyes slid closed.

“Paid a little too much attention to what Nik was doing, eh?” Gary asked as he watched Justin stretching. “Yeah, I suppose so.” the boy answered glancing at this still blissfully unaware friend. “Don’t worry, it’s easily done when you’re a newbie.” Gary informed him, “But you’ll need to practice not falling into trance yourself if you want to hypnotize Nik, a hypnotized hypnotist isn’t much use to anyone.”

Justin felt like that would make much more sense once he was fully awake again. Gary had told him to wake up, but there as still a bit of fuzziness surrounding his brain, making it difficult to totally focus on what was happening. “Can I have a minute, then have another go?” he asked.

The second attempt went no better than the first, or the third for that matter. There was improvement with his fourth try, at sixty-two and with great effort, Justin turned his blurry eyes to Gary and asked, “I’m slipping, aren’t I?” who just nodded. ‘You know what’s happening. You know what you need to do.’ he told himself, ‘Don’t fight it, just be aware of it. Move past it, ground yourself.’ Justin was unaware that while he was coaching himself he had started to speak aloud, “Seventy-two, and I am hypnotized.”

The sixth attempt is when everything fell into place, “One-hundred, and I am hypnotized.” intoned Nikolas. Justin sat quite still, taking a mental inventory. ‘I’m not counting along with him — good, I’m aware of my surroundings — good, I’m feeling a little hazy — okay but not great, I am in control — yes.’ “I think I did it?” Justin said turning to Gary, “No.” he said before the man could speak, “I know I did it.”

“Well done!” Gary congratulated Justin, slapping on the back, “Now, that was the easy part.” Justin groaned, “That was easy?”.


	4. Living History

Dodging Principal Janson as he prowled the corridors was not an easy task, but it was one that Eli Rigby excelled at. The Principal was a man of routine, a routine that Eli had learned by heart. The best way to avoid the man was not being where he would be, unless of course you had to be in Mr. Spence’s History class at 10AM on a Tuesday, which Eli did.

Another trick was to be part of a crowd, have as many other people as possible shielding your presence from the man’s constant leers. On this particular Tuesday, Eli had forgotten this trick, and was more exposed to the Principal than he usually cared to be.

Eli was distracted, he was searching for a face in the crowd, that of his younger friend Aran. He had not seen much of his friend lately, not since Aran had confided in him that he had discovered something that would send the wind up Janson, but Aran would not go into details when Eli pressed him.

The rumour was that Aran had planned to humiliate Janson somehow, but his plan had back-fired. Indeed, the boy was seen visiting the Principal's office a little too frequently, and refused to tell even his closest friends why.

Somehow Eli managed to get to his History class without being caught in the basilisk gaze of Principal Janson, and found himself a seat midway down the column of desks, and sitting in an aisle seat to make it easier to escape once the class had finished, Eli settled in for another boring lesson.

The class spent the first half-hour of the lesson in discussion and debate with Mr. Spence about the revival of certain ancient practices that were becoming more and more common in modern culture. Despite being generally dull, Mr. Spence occasionally spiced up his lessons by bringing in artefacts for the pupils to marvel over. On several occasions Mr. Spence commissioned the various artistic clubs within the school to produce pieces to display to his classes.

On this morning however, Mr. Spence gave the boy’s of his class a rare treat. Suitably impressed with their reasoning and discourse, he proposed a fun little challenge for the young men to test their mettle against.

A large white chalk circle was drawn on the blackboard, and all the boys were invited to stare at it, and to keep staring for as long as possible. “You will need to use all of your determination and concentration to succeed in this challenge.” Mr. Spence told his class, “I am confident however, that you are all up to the task.”

At these words there was a shuffling and scuffling as the all the boys sat more upright and paid rapt attention to Mr. Spence and his circle. “All you have to do for now is look at the circle and listen to my voice as I guide you through this challenge.” the man looked around at the boys, all off them were looking at the circle, some unblinking.

“It’s Okay to blink or to look around the room for a moment, but don’t stray to long, otherwise you will fail.” An uncomfortable shifting in many of the boys was coupled with a few of them blinking, rubbing their eyes or even casting glances at friend and enemies, judging how each of them were doing.

“As you stare at the spot and listen to my voice, you’ll notice that your breathing falls into a nice, slow rhythm.” Mr. Spence watched as the boy’s chests rose and fell steadily as he spoke. “And if you feel you eyes drooping, that’s all part of the challenge, you can just let them close momentarily and re-open them, but maybe not quite as much as they were before.”

“If you are following along with the challenge correctly you should be feeling, or soon be feeling, a pleasant warm numbness in your feet and ankles.” Most of the boys nodded subtly as they felt exactly what Mr. Smith was describing. “That wonderful warm sensation will continue, very slowly, to rise up your body as your watch the spot and listen to my voice.”

All the boys were relaxed, slouching in their seats now, and none of them had their eyes more than half-open. “If your eyes do close and you cannot open them any longer, do not worry, you will still see the spot in your mind’s eye. The challenge will continue whether you have them open or close.” told his class. Two boys’ eye immediately shut.

“Once that nice feeling that is slowly climbing through your body reaches the top of your head, I want you to hold your hand up high so that I will know you have completed my challenge.” Mr. Pence surveyed the sights before him, all but one of the young men had their eyes firmly close, the only hold-out’s were glassy, vacant orbs that could still be seen through the tiniest of gaps.

A hand floated above one of the boy’s head — Eli’s. Smiling broadly, Mr. Spence approached the boy and gently placed his hand on Eli’s shoulder. “You did so well finding this special place deep within yourself, and you’ll be able to find it again when I ask, won’t you.” Eli mumbled his response, “Yes Mr. Spence.”

“…1, and everyone eyes open!” Mr. Spence said to his class as they roused themselves from what felt like a deep, refreshing sleep. “All of you with your hands up completed my challenge successfully.” he told the boys. None of them had noticed at that point that themselves, or their peers, were sat in such an unusual pose, for a few moments after they had awoken they still only had eyes for the spot on the blackboard.

A general murmur of congratulations, for themselves and their friends spread around the room as the boys noticed the state they were in. For several minutes Mr. Spence allowed the noisy chattering as the boys recounted their experiences to each other. “Well, since we’ve only got five minutes left, I think you can all run along to your next class.” Chairs scrapped across the floor as the thirty boys stood and proceeded to the door. “That was a figure of speech Perkins.” Mr. Spence called after one boy, “Walk, don’t run.”

Eli was about to pass Mr. Spence’s desk when the man asked him to stay behind for a moment. “Eli,” the man said smiling warmly, “I was wondering if you could help me with something?” Eli was now the last person, other than Mr. Spence, in the room. He nodded and waited for Mr. Spence to elaborate as the man reached out and took hold of his hand.

“You know there is a History Fair the weekend after next that will be taking place within the school grounds?” another nod. “Good,” the man said as he held the boy’s hand firmly in his, palm up, “I was wondering if you would like to help me with one of the displays?” the man continued. Eli asked him, “Which display, Sir?” as he felt Mr. Spence's thumb begin to slowly draw circles on his palm.

“It would cover the subject matter we discussed today.” Mr. Spence told the boy, who looked a little concerned. “You demonstrated a far superior amount of concentration during our little challenge, didn’t you.” Eli felt a little hazy, his concentration right now being split between his teacher’s questioning and the sensation on his hand. “Good boy,” The man told him, but he was unaware that or even if he had answered, “You can meet me after school has finished, to discuss this further.”

§

The morning of the History Fair arrived and Eli stood in pride of place, Mr. Spence’s prize exhibit. Mr. Spence himself was seated to one side, making small-talk with passers-by, waiting for a sufficient crowd to gather before he began his presentation. Eli was as still as a mannequin, eyes down cast, as patrons of the fair stopped to admire him.

Standing with a flourish, Mr. Spence addressed the gathered men, woman and children. “First, I would like to thank you all for coming today, and allowing us to show you a piece of living history. I would also like to thank out metal-working club for providing the collar and cuffs you see before you.” the man gestured to Eli’s neck, wrists and ankles.

“Traditionally, they would be made from Iron or possibly steel, if the owner were rich enough and cared to display his wealth, but these are made from lightweight Aluminium, for the comfort of our involuntary volunteer.” he said with a chuckle.

“Furthermore I would like to thank the glass-blowing club for a very special addition that I will be showing off later.”

“What stands before you is a slave,” Mr. Spence paused, allowing the crowd time to comprehend fully what he had said, “a once outlawed practice that is rapidly beginning to regain acceptance.”

“This is salve Eli, twelve-years-old, five-foot-one-inches tall, weighting approximately one-hundred-pounds and possessing a penis that was formerly three-point-six-inches long when erect. Ladies and gentlemen, what am I bid?” Mr. Spence asked the crowd, chuckling once again.

“I kid of course, young Eli here isn’t for sale, for one thing he is not even properly trained yet. But, as you can see he is well on the way to learning his place in society.” the man added, gesturing towards Eli’s crotch.

“I would like to give particular thanks to Rhys Adamson of the metal-working club for such a superb and intricate creation. The chastity cage that slave Eli is wearing forbids him from getting erections, and he has been kind enough to wear it for almost two weeks in preparation for the fair, no doubt a frustrating experience.”

Eli made no response to this comment, his dull eyes still fixed on the floor in front of him. “A slave such as Eli here, would bring an unusually high price, being so exotic.” the man gesture to the boy’s head this time.

“Red hair and green eyes, show the people slave,” Mr. Spence commanded, causing Eli to look up and into the eyes of everyone admiring his body before lowering his gaze once more, “these are highly prized features of a young slave boy.”

“What’s that up his bum?” a small voiced asked, cutting off Mr. Spence’s speech. He turned to see a small boy dirty blond-haired boy, probably about eight-years-old, looking curiously at Eli’s rear.

“Ah,” said Mr. Spence not letting his cheery demeanour drop for a second despite his displeasure at the interruption. “that, my observant young friend is a training plug.” he told the boy as he knelt before him, blocking the audience’s view of the young boy.

Taking the boy’s hand into his he began to explain, “That is teasing all the special parts a boy has inside of him, teaching him the pleasure that a Master can give to a slave boy if he is very, very well-behaved.” The boy felt a tingle in his hand where Mr. Spence’s thumb was circling and also in his immature penis as it tented his pants at the mention of pleasure.

Glancing down Mr. Spence noticed the boy’s reaction and quietly asked, “Do you know what pleasure a boy can get from his bum?” Giggly and leaning in closer to whisper conspiratorially, the boy said “My big brother puts his finger in my bum sometimes, and it feels super nice!” Mr. Spence’s other thumb had drifted, casually, to the boy’s penis and was rubbing it up-and-down very softly.

The boy sighed, and his eyes became glassy under Mr. Spence’s ministrations. The man idly wondered if he should add a second specimen to his display, to compare old and new. An older slave boy in classic bindings, a new younger slave boy in modern plastic slave raiments.

The young boy would do anything the man asked of him now, there was no question. The only obstacle would be his parents, but when Mr. Spence wanted something, he could be very persuasive.

§

Mr Spence was in luck, instead of a pair of parents who would need to be brought around to his way of thinking, it was the afore mentioned older brother with a small gang of friends who was looking after Teddie today. The name was appropriate for the boy with his dirty blond hair, dark eyes and diminutive stature. Proudly telling the man that he was nine-and-a-half-years-old, and despite being only about an inch or two over four feet tall, he seemed to be very at ease with his body. His brother had said, only half-jokingly, when Mr Spence had asked if it would be okay for the boy to be essentially naked in front of a large room filled with strangers that he was surprised that Teddie had not stripped off the instant that the man had suggested becoming part of the display.

It transpired that the youngster was quite a devilish exhibitionist, and his brother thought that even a short stint as a slave — even if it was, as far as he knew, make-believe — might just be the thing to bring Teddie under some semblance of control. The brother was a little embarrassed, but smile broadly at Mr Spence’s knowing tone when the man informed him that he intended to us some toys up Teddies butt, and that if the boy played his part well that he may give the boy his ‘temporary’ outfit as a gift — perhaps more so for him, as the older brother, than the younger. So rejoining his friend in the knowledge that they would not have to look after Teddie for the rest of the day, and sporting a barely concealed boner brought on by the ideas of what they could get up to at home, Teddie’s brother left the boy in Mr Spence’s capable hands.

The small dressing room was cramped, a little less so that when Mr Spence and Eli had used it an hour before when the man had stripped the boy and attached the metal restraints to his limbs. Digging out the smaller plastic restraints and handing them to an unusually subdued and compliant Teddie, Mr Spence explained their functions. “This collar is quite state-of-the-art, it’s got an integrated locking mechanism, see? It’s also very lightweight, here you hold it. You can also wear it for extended periods of time, permanently if desired, as you can shower it in and it will remain in perfect condition. The only way it will unlock is using an app, which I’ve got installed on my phone, so don’t worry.” Handing the narrow band of plastic to the boy Mr Spence encouraged him to examine it so that he could see for himself. “Why don’t you try it on?” the man suggested, his hand on Teddie’s back, rubbing it in large circles, soothing the boy.

Teddie looked at the loop of plastic with slightly unfocused eyes, and slowly brought it up to his own neck, bring the ends together behind his head and smiling softly as he heard the faint click of the lock. “Good boy.” Mr Spence praised, his hand sliding down the boy’s back, still maintaining its circular motion until it rested on Teddie’s buttocks. “Now why don’t we get you undress like a proper little slave boy should be, hmm?” he asked, receiving an enthusiastic nod. Reluctantly removing his hand from the soft cheek, Mr Spence ordered Teddie to raise his arms, and was pleased to get an initial glimpse of the bare belly. Standing, waiting for a moment, he admired the boy’s willingness to follow his commands, standing quite still, arms stretched above his head in what Mr Spence knew would soon become an uncomfortable posture.

Teddie’s arms were shaking, but he kept the held up above his head. He had expected Mr Spence to remove his shirt for him immediately, but he had been left stood like this for minute, maybe hours with how his limbs were aching, but he didn’t dare lower them, he wanted to prove that he could pretend to be a good slave boy for the man, just like the older boy Eli was doing. He had to bite his lip quite hard to stop himself from giggling as the man’s fingers brushed against his sides as he pulled the t-shirt up and over Teddie’s stomach, chest and head. Giggling didn’t seem like something a slave boy would do, the boy told himself as the man neatly folded the shirt and placed it next to another rather scant pile of clothes. His arms fell to his side framing his slim chest, both nipples little peaks due to both the excitement of what was to come and a little because of the relative coolness of the room they found themselves in. “Did I say you could lower your arms?” Mr Spence asked sternly. “N-no.” Teddie stuttered apprehensively. The man didn’t seem angry, not really, and the boy hoped that it was just part of the game and that he hadn’t disappointed the man.

Raising his arms again as the man knelt in front of him and began to fiddle with his belt, the backs of his hands brushing lightly against the small bulge pressing against the fabric, the boy hoped that Mr Spence would finish stripping him soon so that he could lower his aching limbs once more. With the belt unfastened, Mr Spence ordered Teddie to stand on one leg as he pulled the boy’s trousers down to his ankles, exposing the youngster’s Batman briefs. Once again Teddie was left in an uncomfortable position, balancing on one foot and swaying side-to-side in an effort not to fall over, an aching leg going the collection of fatigued limbs. Finally, after what seemed like a lifetime of standing there, the man slipped the leg of the trousers over Teddies foot, tickling the sole as it passed. The boy was somewhat prepared for this, remembering the wandering fingers as his shirt was removed, and somehow he was able to remain standing despite wobbling dangerously.

He only got a brief respite as he switched legs and Mr Spence fully removed his trousers, leaving him in just his briefs and socks. After a long delay during which the man admired the boy’s beauty, Mr Spence removed one sock and then the other, allowing the boy to rest both feet on the floor for the first time in ages. Two slim plastic rings were produced and deftly attached to both ankles with the faint click of a lock, just as the collar had done. “Hands out in front.” he commanded the boy who complied instantly, presenting his wrists to Mr Spence, anticipating what was about to happen next. “You can relax, and have a look and feel if you want.” The man told him as he finished cuffing the boy, and the skinny limbs fell limply to his side once more, finally able to have a rest. Moments later Teddie had lifted them again, this time to eye height so that he could examine them closely.

§

“They’re pretty cool.” he told the man, rolling his wrist as he inspected every square millimetre, “Where’s the join?” he asked, looking for the point on the cuff when one end locked to the other. “If I told you that, you might try to escape, that I’d have to punish you.” Mr Spence said mildly. “How?” Teddie asked, sounding a little distracted by his hunt for the seam in his cuffs. Covertly, Mr Spence retrieved his phone from his jacket pocket, opened an App and began to adjust one of the settings. “Um? I think it’s a bit tight…” Teddie told the man as he tried to clench the fingers of his right hand in to a fist, and they didn’t respond in the way he was used to. “My hand’s going a bit numb.” he observed out loud. “Is it?” the man replied, sounding moderately interested. “I-I can’t feel it!” the boy cried out, alarmed as he first squeezed then pinched the fleshy part of his hand, then tried to bend one of his fingers back to see if he could feel any pain from that.

“Whoa, careful, don’t hurt yourself.” Mr Spence said as he adjusted the slider in the App back to its original position, then proceeded to slide it further in the opposite direction. “That’s better, I can feel it again.” Teddie said, in relief, but it was short-lived. “But now it’s… Ow… Ow!” He was clenching his teeth now as what started as a mild case of pins-and-needles in his hand had progressed to a rather intense stabbing sensation. “Is that okay now?” asked Mr Spence asked. “Yeah it is how…” Teddie began to ask until he saw the phone in the man’s hand. “You were doing that.” he said accusingly. “Of course.” the man replied, “You did ask me to show you how I could punish you. Rob you of the use of your hands and feet by numbing them, cause pain in your hands, arms, feet and legs if you are really naughty, and other things…” he added mysteriously.

“What other things…?” Teddie asked guardedly, not quite sure that he wanted to experience them, or even know what they are. “I… Um…” the boy continued to say, his eyes flickering and drooping, his mouth falling open and a little stream of saliva running out of the corner of his mouth, and his head bobbing as if he were falling to sleep. “Yes?” Mr Spence asked as static from an unknown source began to fill Teddie’s head drowning out all of his thoughts as he swayed on the spot. The man leant in close to the boy and whispered softly into his ear. “Yes Sir.” the boy slurred, responding immediately. He wasn’t aware of what he was agreeing to, but he knew that whatever his master asked of him, he must agree to it without question.

Slowly the fuzziness and the all-encompassing hiss that filled Teddie’s head faded, and he found he had regained the capacity to question his situation. “What was…?” he began to ask before his thoughts were drowned out once again, and he forgot what he was about to ask. “What was what?” asked Mr Spence kindly, but he was unable to prevent a slight smirk breaking out on his lips. “I’m not sure… I don’t remember…” the boy replied, a note of concern in his voice. “Good boy.” the man said, praising him and patting him lovingly on the head. “Shall we finish getting you ready?” Mr Spence asked Teddie, who nodded and gave a dazed “Uh huh.” as his only reply. “Well, let’s get these off then.” the man told him, cupping the bulge in the boy’s briefs with his large hand.

Slipping his hand around the boy’s slim hips, and sliding all of his fingers except his thumbs under the fabric, Mr Spence pushed down the boy’s briefs, revealing the steely, three-inch boner that had been present since their first meeting. “Simply beautiful.” he remarked as his fingers brushed against it, eliciting a gasp from the boy. “But I think we need to get it under control, don’t you? A good slave boy doesn’t get to have a boner without his master’s permission does he, Teddie?” he asked. “No Sir.” came the meek reply. A slim band was attached around the base of the penis, just behind the balls, the customary click indicating that it was not locked tightly in place until Mr Spence decided it was time to release it. Teddie fidgeted slightly as a second back was fitted just above his immature testicles, pulling the small orbs down in their tight sac, he hissed too when the third and final band was wrapped around his penis just behind his sensitive glans, the man taking pleasure in running his finger along the overstimulated corona. Mr Spence finished with a short, slim, curved rod with a bulbous end that he easily slipped into Teddie’s accepting hole, just enough of it protruding to reposition it if needed or, in the very unlikely event, remove it entirely.

With a small adjustment in the App, Teddie watched in amazement as his boner wilted and vanished. “There we go, no boner for you.” Mr Spence said with a chuckle. “Wow…” Teddie breathed, astonished that his penis could be controlled so easily by those little white bands. “But… I’ve already got a slave boy with his cock all locked up and limp. I think I’d like to really show off what we can do with the modern gear.” Mr Spence said, thinking aloud as he made more adjustments to the App, and in turn, Teddie’s penis. The boy’s dick rose again, getting harder-and-harder, much harder than it had ever been — almost painfully so — helped by short and subtle pulses from the small stimulator resting on his immature prostate. The man’s fingers took hold of the hard stalk, gently stroking it ass the boy purred and gasped with the intense sensations running through it. “Does your brother make you cum when he plays with your butt?” Mr Spence asked as the boy squeaked, his boy-button received an increased jolt of pleasure. Teddie just nodded, unable to speak for the moment. “Yes!” he gasped after a few long moments, “I’m gonna do it now!” he told the man, eager to get the tingly feeling he loved.

“You are?” the man asked amused, “Are you sure?” The fingers kept up their work for many more minute, but Teddie found no relief. “I thought you were ‘gonna do it’, hmm?” the man said, “Maybe it’s because you’re a slave boy now, and slave boys only get to cum when their masters let them, and I’m not going to let you yet, not until you’ve been a good boy out on stage for me, how does that sound?” Teddie whimpered in frustration and longing, “You’ve got to let me do it, I’m going crazy!” he begged. “Got to? I don’t have to do anything, especially for a little slave boy like you. Maybe I should just leave you like this forever, right on the edge but never letting you go over. Do you think I should?” Mr Spence asked, a hard edge to his voice. “Please, no Sir.” Teddie said quietly. “Then you’ll be a good slave boy for me?” the man asked. “Yes Sir, I will.” Teddie replied. “Good.” Mr Spence said as he placed his hand on the small boy’s back, pushing him gently out of the room and toward the stage.


	5. The Iron Horse

Duncan sat in the compartment reading his book, barely aware that a woman and two boys had entered. “We’re not disturbing you, I hope.” the woman said courteously. Duncan just glanced over the top of his book and shook his head politely, then continued reading.

The old train pulled out of the station with a loud whistle and great white plumes of steam billowing out of it. It moved forwards, slowly at first, but gaining speed as the wheels began their rhythmic chorus — click-clack, click-clack.

Green fields and blue sky passed by the window as the train made its way out of the town and into the countryside. The faded purples of the upholstery were lightened and darkened by the shadows of passing trees, tall and short, as they continued their journey.

Over the sound of the engine, and the click-clack of the wheels, Duncan heard a whispered argument break out between the woman and the younger of the two boys. The woman seemed to be telling the boy to be quite and stop fidgeting, something that boys all throughout the land struggle with. It didn’t help when the older boy snickered at his brother’s — Duncan had guessed that they were related, judging by the similar blond hair — telling off, earning him a rude gesture.

Gradually, Duncan became aware that the younger boy was staring at him and tried to ignore this fact as much as possible. Eventually, he could do so no longer and, getting to the end of the chapter he was reading, he closed the book and made to place it on the seat next to him.

The book did not make it however before the boy started to speak. “Hi! My name’s Morgan, what’s yours?” he asked brightly as he extended his hand for the man to shake.

“Morgan.” snapped the woman, “I told you not to disturb the gentleman.”

“But mum!” he wined, but in a playful tone, making it seem that he had expected this reaction from his mother, and wanted to make a game of it. “You said not to disturb him while he was reading, and he’s finished reading. Hasn’t he?” he corrected and question his mother.

“That’s not the point!” she said heatedly, causing the boy to wither slightly, as he began to think that he had, maybe, pushed his mother a little too far on this occasion.

“Ma’am, it is all right.” Duncan said calmly, trying to defuse the situation. “I have finished reading, and I do so enjoy meeting new people.” he said as he took the proffered hand and shook it. “Duncan Raith, at your service.” he made the boy a small bow as he introduced himself.

“I-I-I’m Morgan Rowntree, pleased to meet you sir.” the boy stuttered, taken a back at the man’s formal introduction. The man’s large hand was warm and soft in his small one, he gave Morgan’s a couple of firm tugs before releasing it.

A snort of derision came from the man’s left as the older boy, at his younger brother’s embarrassment, a teenager Duncan assessed, now that he got a good look at the boy. “You getting a crush on this one too?” he asked in a stage whisper.

“Garrett.” warned the boy’s mother. He looked over to the woman, then back down to his phone, ignoring everyone else once more.

“Er…what do you do Mr. Raith?” Morgan asked, trying to draw the man’s attention back onto himself.

“Well, young man.” he says sitting up straight in his seat and watching the boy mirror him, “For my day job I am a hypnotherapist, but my real passion is mind-controlling unruly boys.” he said with complete seriousness.

Morgan’s mouth hung open, he looked from the man, to his mother, then back again. “You…you don’t really, do you?” he asked unsure whether he believed the man or not. “Mind control isn’t real, is it?” he asked, again feeling unsure.

“No, of course it isn’t!” he jovially told the boy who looked relived.

Cupping his hand to his mouth and loudly whispering to the boy’s mother he said, “That’s just what I want the to think! It makes it easier to get them!” before adding a theatrical wink.

Morgan let out a ‘humph!’ and folded his arms across his chest, “You’re just messing with me aren’t you?”

“Maybe just a little bit.” the man said holding two of his fingers a very small distance apart.

“Tell me ma’am…” he began before being interrupted, “Ramona.” the woman says.

Duncan nods, “Tell me, Ramona, does Morgan happen to be an unruly boy?”

“Oh, very much so!” she replies, getting into character, “I just don’t know what to do with him.”

This, of course, made young Morgan pout even more and stick his tongue out at his mother.

“You see.” Ramona said, gesturing to the boy as he made her point for her.

“Well, let’s see what I can do then!” he says, turning back to the boy.

“I can prove to you, right here, right now, that mind control does indeed exist,” Duncan told Morgan, “and that I can mind control you!” he added with a flourish.

Forgetting he was meant to be upset with the man and his mother for teasing him, Morgan responded to the man’s challenge, “Bet you can’t!”

“Okay, if I win, I get to permanently control your mind.” Duncan told the boy.

“And what do I get if I win?” Morgan asks back.

The man shrugged, “Whatever you want, because you won’t win!”

“Right.” the man said forestalling any arguments from the boy, “What I want you to do is really simple. In a moment I’m going to ask you to hold your arms out in front of you like this.” he held both arms straight out, palms facing towards the floor. “Then, without touching you, threatening you or coercing you in any way, I’ll use my mid control powers to make you turn your hands over.” the man rotated his wrists, demonstrating. “Simple, eh?” he asked the boy who nodded suspiciously. “And, I’ll do it in under sixty seconds!”

“No way!” the boy scoffed, “You can’t make me do that in less than a minute, not if you can’t touch me or anything.”

“I can, and I will.” said the man simply. “Do you want to begin?”

Morgan silently raised both of his arm into the position the man had indicated.

“I just want to make sure, you agree that if I can make you turn your hands over, you’’l let me mind control you forever?” the man asked seriously.

Morgan rolled his eyes and said “Yes, I’ll let you mind control me.” in a bored voice.

“Okay, let’s begin.” the man said, then he paused for three seconds, “Sorry, can you start with them the other way up?” he asked apologetically.

Morgan turned his hands over, and Duncan smirked.

“Only three seconds, a record for me!” he said triumphantly.

“But I… But you… You didn’t…” Morgan babbled, “That’s not fair!” he complained, looking to his mother for support.

“I think you lost fair and square.” she said chuckling.

Morgan pouted again, “You’re not really going to mind control me, are you?” he asked, unable to prevent a note of fear entering his voice.

The man leant forward and spoke softly to the concerned boy, “No, but I’d like to hypnotize you, just a bit, I think you’ll find it fun?”

“Okay.” said the boy, “But don’t make me do anything stupid.” he added, glancing at this brother.

“I promise I won’t.” he said kindly, “I just want you to follow along with what I say, anyone can listen to me and do it.”

“But first, I need you to do something else for me. Don’t worry it’s super easy.” he told the boy.

“I just want you to count, in your head, each time the train goes over a sleeper, when it goes ‘click-clack’, can you do that.” The boy nodded.

“Good, just keep counting up from one, and if you loose track, it’s okay, just start again.” The boy nodded again.

“I want you to take some nice, slow, deep breaths, good. As you breathe I want you to listen carefully to what I am saying. Listen carefully to each word as I say it. You can do that, can’t you.” The boy nodded, silently mouth a few numbers as the man distracted him.

“Good, you’re doing well so far. Now as I keep talking, and you keep listening, you can keep counting. Counting up, up, up as I speak to you, always counting, always listening. As you count up, you’ll notice something else happening, something easy, something fun. Your arm will start to drift upward all by itself. Just slowly, very slowly.” The man said as he saw the boy’s arm jerk upwards a few inches.

“Good boy, nice and slow like that, like your breathing in-and-out, nice and slowly. Now, as you listen to me you may find yourself not listening but still listening at the same time, that’s okay, you can do that can’t you. Of course you can, listening and not listening, counting and not counting, thinking and not thinking. Very good boy.” The boy nodded, so did his mother, gesturing in the direction of the other son. “Very good boys.” Duncan corrected himself.

“You are both doing so well! Arms rising a little higher now with each ‘click-clack’. Starting to float away, all those pesky thoughts and feeling falling away from you. Falling away until you are both calm, relaxed and empty. So empty, not having to think about anything other than my words. Well done, you good boys!” he congratulated both Morgan and Garrett as he saw both boys break out into blissful grins.

“Higher and higher now, both of your hands rising as far as they can. When they get as high as they can, something wonderful will happen, you know that don’t you? I’ll give you one more instruction, then you can feel the magnificent sensations of trance. Better than anything you’ve ever felt before. It will feel so good you’ll want me to control your minds for eternity, won’t you.” Both boys nodded in agreement.

“Right at the top now, the highest they can be. So hard to keep them up there, but you must until I tell you. Hands to heavy now, getting ready to fall. Fall into a deep trance for me. Fall and let me control your minds. Any second now, here it comes. DROP!”

“Well, Mr. Raith, you are worth your fee and then some.” Ramona said as she looked at her two deeply entranced sons. “You certainly have a knack for turning unruly boys into good boys.”

“Very good boys, Mrs. Rowntree.” Duncan corrected her, “Now, what do you want their triggers to be?”.


	6. Two boys and a Babysitter

Something had been wrong with Joe ever since that babysitter had arrived. Well, maybe not wrong, but different — weird different — and Danny wanted to know what it was.

So he had skipped his shower after soccer practice and, still wearing his uniform, had sneaked into the house before the time that he was expected. What he saw went well beyond wrong, bypassing nasty, it had jumped straight to gross!

Julio the baby sitter was sat on the sofa, legs spread apart and Joe was… Joe was… Danny couldn’t bring himself to think about what he was seeing. Keeping his gaze high off the ground, he walked into the room and confronted the Latino teen.

“Stop what you are doing to Joe right now!” he said, stamping his foot in an attempt to appear authoritative, but just looking like he was having an ineffectual tantrum.

“But, I’m not doing anything to him, he’s doing it to me.” Julio said, smirking as he ran his fingers through the kneeling boy’s soft, sandy hair. “Anyway, he’s just doing what he likes, so it’s none of your business.”

“Joe, stop it!” Danny yelled, but got no response. “You're lying! He doesn’t like it, you’re making him do it!” he accused the older boy.

“Oh? I think Joe likes my Verga.” Julio said with a moan as Joe’s tongue swept across the head. “ Joe, stop of a second and tell Danny how much you like being my cock-slut.”

“No, he’s not a cock…” he shook his head, his own sandy hair dancing in front of his eyes, “…one of those.” he couldn’t say the word out loud.

With a slurp and a pop, Joe pulled himself off Julio’s cock and looked at Danny. “Hey Danny, I love being Master Julio’s cock-slut!” he said before diving back down to give the brown cock another lick, “It’s so fun and makes me feel so horny.” he moaned.

Julio gave Danny a satisfied smile, “See? I’m not making him do anything he doesn’t want to.”

“No, he’s not!” Danny said angrily, “He can’t be, it’s not possible.” he sounded less sure as he said the last few words.

“He kinda felt that way at the start too, but we had a little chat, and we worked things out.”

“What did you do to him?” asked Danny, suspiciously.

“I hypnotized him, it was pretty easy, and he really enjoyed it.” Julio said as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

“I’ll tell…” Danny told the babysitter, unsure of exactly who he could tell what he had discovered.

“He’ll just deny everything, and you’ll look crazy.” Julio said.

“Please don’t make him do this any more.” a defeated Danny pleaded.

“Why should I listen to you, I have everything I want, what could you possibly give me?”

“I could-I could get someone else! A replacement, so you can let Joe go!”

Julio considered the proposal for a moment. “OK, you find me another boy to be my cock-slut, and I’ll let Joe go.”

“Let Joe go first, it will be easier to find someone if both of us are looking.” Danny said, hoping that he could take Joe and what, run away?

“Find me someone first, then I’ll let Joe go, unless…” Julio counter-offered, leaving the suggestion hanging in the air.

Danny was out of options, he couldn’t leave Joe with Julio, and there was no hope of finding a boy to replace him, unless…

“M…me. What about me?” Danny asked.

“You want me to hypnotize you, bring you under my power, make you my cock-slut?” he asked the boy, licking his lips.

Danny shuddered, “Of course I don’t WANT to be your…your cock-slut, but I don’t have a choice.”

“You always have a choice, you just need to relax and find it.” Julio said, his voice softer now, “I can help you if you want?”

“OK?” Danny said, taken a back by the older boy’s sudden change in temperament.

“It was the same with Joe, I didn’t make him do anything, I promise. I just helped him relax and make a choice. A choice that lets us both feel so good. Will you let me help you?” the Latino teen asked again.

Danny nodded.

“Good boy.” Julio said as he raised a finger in the air, “Now, it’s very easy to drop into a nice, comfortable trance where you can relax and make important choices. Count the circles.” Julio said as he traced a lazy circle in the air.

“What?” asked Danny.

“Count.” Julio commanded.

“1…2…3…4…5…”

“Just follow the tip of my finger, and say each number out loud.”

“6…7…8…9…10…”

“That’s a good boy, doing so well.”

“11…12…13…14…15…”

“Remember to focus on my finger and relax.”

“16…17…18…19…20…”

“Relaxing and counting, counting and relaxing.”

“21…22…23…24…25…”

“Counting higher and higher.”

“26…27…28…29…30…”

“It’s important to count as high as you can.”

“31…32…33…34…35…”

“You’re thinking about other things apart from counting aren’t you.”

Danny nodded, “36…37…38…39…40…”

“Keep counting, counting the circles my finger makes is so important to you.”

“41…42…43…44…45…”

“How important is it?”

“46…47…very important…48…49…50…”

“But all that thinking is making forget the number, isn’t it?”

“51…52…54…55…”

“Missing the circles as they go round-and-round.”

“58…er…62…63…64…65…”

“I can help you, if you listen to my voice, do what it says, it will be easier.”

“66…68…70…73…75…help, please…”

“Keep counting and feel you thoughts quietening.”

“76…79…82…85…90…”

“The only thoughts remaining are a desire to keep counting correctly.”

“91…92…93…94…95…”

“Good boy. It feels good to count and listen, listen and count.”

“96…97…98…99…100…”

“Wouldn’t it feel nice if you mind was empty, if you slipped into a trance for me?”

“101…102…103…104…105…yes…”

“Then go into trance NOW.” Julio snapped his fingers.

Danny let out a gasp of surprise as he swayed on the spot, “Mm.” he moaned as he slipped under.

“You’re deep in trance now, listening to my voice, doing as I say.”

“Yeah…deep trance…listen.” Danny mumbled, repeating Julio’s words.

“The more you listen, the more you obey, the more you obey, the more you listen, and the better it will feel.”

“Mm…listen…obey…feel better.”

“It feels so good, you want to feel like this all the time!”

“Yeah…feel good…all the time.” Danny’s cock started to harden in his pants.

“You could be my slave if you wanted?” Julio asked casually.

“Your slave? I want to be your slave!” Danny says excitedly, his cock bouncing every-time he says that word.

“But it means obeying me, even when you are awake, do you want that?”

Did he want that? Maybe? Probably. Definitely! Danny's mind was empty, but his cock was thinking for him. “Obey…always…even awake…want it…” he moaned as a wet spot appeared on the front of his pants.

“Then wake up and kneel before you Master, slave.” Julio said triumphantly.

Danny sank to his knees and looked up at his Master, drinking in the sight of the caramel skinned boy, he moaned, Julio was everything to him now, nothing else mattered. He let out a little surprised, “Oh.”, as he looks at his Master. “I'm your salve…” he says curiously, “…slave…” he says again, liking how the word sounds as it passes his lips, “I'm your slave!” he says once more, grinning.

Julio smiled wide. “You are probably glad you asked me to hypnotize you, aren't you?”

Danny nodded enthusiastically, “Yes I am, Master Julio!”

“Now, before I continue programming you into a perfect slave, do you remember why you asked me to hypnotize you in the first place?” Julio asked.

Danny thought hard for a moment. “Oh.” he said, “Joe. You said you would let him go if I let you hypnotize me, Master Julio?” he asked unsure, it felt to Danny like that had happened so long ago and had happened to someone else entirely.

Julio nodded. “But does that sound fair? Should slaves be able to demand things of their Masters like that? I did promise, unless you feel like I should just do what I feel like and not worry about freeing him.”

“Hm, breaking your promise is bad, Master Julio.” Danny said, “But, you are his Master, and my Master now!” he added happily. “So you can do what you want, but I think you should not free him because we are both your slaves?” he finished. “I think that feels right, Master Julio.” he said with a nod.

“Get naked for me.” Julio commanded Danny who up to this point hadn’t noticed that Joe was also naked.

Danny stood and began to undress. “Yeah, Master Julio.” he said, slightly muffled by the shirt going over his head, before bending down to unzip and pulls off his jeans. Danny's boxers got caught on his erection as he tried to take them off, and finding a large, damp, sticky patch of precum he moaned out, “Eww!”, held them out at arm's length and dropped the dramatically to the floor.

“Look at my Verga, tell me how it makes you feel.” Julio groaned as he admired the boy’s body.

“Master Julio, it's so big, it makes me feel so horny and nice.” he moans as he looks down at the rigid brown shaft.

Julio grinned. “Remember when you said Joe couldn't be a cock-slut?” he asked.

Danny nodded. “Yes, Master Julio, I do.” he said, staring hungrily at Julio's rod.

“Well…you're one now, aren't you?”

Danny gasps. “Yes I am!” his eyes snap up to look Julio in the eyes. “Can I suck it like Joe did? Please, Master Julio.” he pleaded.

“Ah, soon my slave, but first I think you and your brother should entertain me. Why don’t you suck on each other’s cock.”

Danny and Joe laid on the floor facing each other’s dicks. With practised ease, they swallowed the other’s cock and began sucking.

Julio stroked his own cock as he watched the twins, their perfect symmetry a thing of beauty.

He had let Joe be his cock-slut for too long this time, usually it was little more than a month before he started dropping hints to the other brother that something was wrong, that his twin needed rescuing and making the switch.

But he enjoyed their reactions nevertheless, to the discovery, to their slow descent into their ‘first’ trance, and he resolved to do it more often.


	7. Two Second Memory

The fish danced in their tank, oblivious to the man and boy watching them. “That’s Nemo, and that one’s Triton. Oh, and that little fella is Poseidon!” the man told the boy.

“How do you remember all of their names, Mr. Mitchell?!” the boy asked.

“It’s easy when you’ve spent as much time as I have watching them as I have,” the man answered, “and Zachary, I thought I asked you to call me Andrew.”

“Oh, sorry Mr. Mitchell… I mean Andrew, I forgot.” Zachary apologized.

“That’s OK, did you know that fish only have a two-second memory?” Andrew asked the boy.

“No I didn’t Mr. Mr… Andrew.” Zachary said, catching himself before he forgot to use the man’s proper name again.

“Yes, it’s true, they are very easily distracted.” Andrew said knowledgeably.

“What’s that one call…” the boy began to say, point at a larger gold and black stripes fish.

“Look here, that one’s Cousteau!” the man said, diverting the boy’s attention to another fish, this one blue with orange spots.

“Yes Mr. Mitchell, but where did…” Andrew said, trying to find the fish he wanted to know the name of.

“Please, call me Andrew.” the man told him once more.

“Oh, sorry.” said Zachary as he continued his search, “Oh there it is, what’s…”

Mr. Mitchell had moved behind Zachary and gently placed his hand on the boy’s shoulders. “What’s what, Zachary?” he asked.

“I… erm… forgot…” the boy said.

“That’s OK.” Andrew told him, “I sometimes forget things when I watch the fish too.”

“You do, Mr. Mitchell?” Zachary asked.

“It’s Andrew, and yes I do. I like to stand here, watch the fish and forget my worries and stresses. Doesn’t that sound nice.”

“Yes, Mr. Andrew.” the boy said as his eyes moved from fish to fish as the darted in front of and behind each other.

Andre chuckled, “You’re forgetting which of my names is which now aren’t you?”

“I am?” the boy asked confused.

“Yes, but that’s OK.”

“Can you tell me what…” the boy started to say as he raised his arm to point at one of the smaller fish.

The man’s hands ran down the boy’s arms, pulling the to his side, finally their hands met at Zachary’s hips.

“What do you wan to know?” the man asked.

“I forgot.” the boy said.

“Not got a very long memory have you, boy?” he asked.

“Uh? No?” was the eventual response.

“You’re so good at forgetting everything that happens here, aren’t you?”

“Yes?” Zachary said, hoping it was the correct answer.

He assumed it was as the man’s hand had slid across his belly and into his underwear.

Zachary’s cock twitched and started to grow as the man expertly manipulated it.

“You’re going to want to watch the fishes every time you come here, aren’t you?” the man quizzed the boy.

“Yes!” the boy said as Andrew gave his cock a particularly pleasurable squeeze.

“And you will forget what happens when you do, won’t you?”

“Uh huh!” the boy answered, words washed away by the man’s teasing.

“I’m going to tell you a little secret, good boys like you love to cum in their undies and walk around with the lovely gooey-ness there all day don’t they?”

“Yes!” Zachary sighed, thinking that it was the best thing in the world to do just that.

“Hey Dad!” a voice called from the hallway, “When Zach gets here can you…” Marcus said as he entered the room. “Oh for fucks sake!” he groaned as he saw what his father was up to.

“Dad!” he whined, “Can you not fuck this one up like you did with the rest of my friends, he’s new here, and I kinda like him!”

“Oh my dear, sweet Marcus, how can you not expect me to want to play with his gorgeous boy?” Marcus’ father asked as he ran the fingers of his free hand through the boy’s long dark hair.

“I promise it will be just this once if you come over here and join him.” the man said.

“Dad! It’s weird enough already, you know I don’t like you doing it when other boys are here.” Marcus was fidgeting on the spot, but despite his protests his cock had other plans.

“I can see you want it,” the man said as he rubbed Zachary’s cock in just the right way to make him pant and his knees to go weak for a second.

Marcus himself moaned as he watched his father slowly bringing his new friend to a wonderful, explosive climax right before his eyes. The same climax that he had experienced at his father’s hand countless times, and one he had witnessed nearly as often in his friends as they stood where Zachary was stood at this very moment.

“Fine, I’ll do it.” Marcus said, as if agreeing to a difficult and arduous task. Joining his new friend in front of the fish tank, he closed his eyes and let out a contented sigh as he felt his father’s hand invading his trunks.

“Why don’t you ever watch the fish with me?” Marcus’ father cooed in his ear, “You’d enjoy it, I’m sure.”

“Fat chance,” Andre’s son said harshly, “I don’t want you going all weird on me, and trying to fuck with my head like you’ve done with all my friends.”

“A pity.” the father said as he stroked his son’s balls, “it would give you and your friend here,” Marcus heard Zachary gasp again as his father employed one of his many devious tricks, “so much pleasure.”

How the man knew exactly when, where and how to touch a boy’s cock to turn him into a gibbering, sexual mess, Marcus had never discovered. But he was glad that his father had shared his expertise when he was first discovering all the wonderful feeling his cock could give him.

“You could just open you eyes for two seconds, one little look wouldn’t hurt, would it?” his father asked, making the request sound very reasonable, but Marcus knew it would never be just two seconds. He’d seen it before, all of his friends, vacant-eyed, watching the fish, their memories evaporating after just a couple of seconds, the only things sticking were his fathers honeyed words.

“Two seconds, before I forget, then two more seconds?” Marcus asked knowing the answer.

“Well, if you wanted to watch for longer, I wouldn’t stop you.” his father said as his thumb caressed Marcus's glans.

“If YOU wanted me to watch for longer, your mean. I’ve seen it all before, you wouldn’t give me a choice. Oh, you’d pretend to, but not really.”

“Admit it, you enjoy watching me break into your friends minds and play with them. It gets you so hot!” he said, giving his son’s cock a quick tug.

“Oh! Um, no.” Marcus managed to say thorough the pleasure, “Just shut up and get us off, so we can go to the cinema with our undies filled with cum.” he gasped out as Andrew stroked his cock, adding an occasional twist of his wrist to keep things interesting.

“I mean, just go to the cinema! Having our pants full of cum is fucking weird.” he tried to correct himself as he groaned in unison with his forgotten friend stood next to him.

“Oh, but I promised young Zachary here that he could find out what it feels like.” Andrew said as his forefinger wandered over and around the boys’ pee slits. “And he would be so disappointed if he didn’t get to experience it, right Zachary?”

“Yes, Mr. Mitchell.” Zachary replied in a hollow voice.

“Oh dear, he’s forgotten to call me Andrew again.” the man said.

“Andrew.” Zachary said dreamily.

“Good boy.” he said, bringing both boys to the edge with steady, measured strokes.

“Dad, I’m gonna cum soon!” Marcus warned.

“Well, it’s up to you to decide then, my boy. Do you and your friend get to cum in your pants, or should I just leave you both like this, and you can go to the cinema with big, throbbing, boners.” Andrew punctuated the last two words with vigorous pumps on the boy’s cocks.

Marcus knew that his father would do it, leave both of them hanging on the edge of an abyss, a hair's breadth away from cumming, but not ever getting there. It would be worse, much worse for Zachary too, as Marcus’ father would make sure the reasons why, and maybe even the conscious awareness of why, he felt so horny were inaccessible to him, and he would be absolutely unable to do anything about it.

He had called his father’s bluff once, about two years ago. He and his friend were going bowling, Andrew had caught the boy and showed off his is precious aquarium. Marcus had refused to let his father finish them off and angrily demanded that his friend be released.

When the boys had arrived at the bowling alley, Marcus had made an excuse to use the bathroom. He didn’t even bother going into a stall, masturbating furiously at a urinal, not caring if anyone could see him. Returning to his friends, and finding the boy still a hot, horny mess, it felt like the ultimate betrayal.

“Fuck!” Marcus yelled, loving and hating what was about to happen, “Alright you old bastard! Just fucking make us…CUM!” at the last word, Andrew was already doing the deed.

Both boys moaned and humped into the man’s still stroking hand, “That’s my good boys, cum for Daddy.”

“Shit!” Marcus’ eyes flew open, and he saw his own face, reflected in the glass of the fish tank, contorted with pleasure as his underwear was filled with warm, sticky cum.

Andrew allowed his son and his friend to catch their breath after their delayed orgasms. He kept himself busy by sampling the few droplets of sperm clinging to his fingers. The familiar taste of Marcus, and the refreshing spiciness of young Zachary.

“Your dad’s aquarium is pretty cool.” Zachary told his friend as they walked away from Marcus’ house.

Marcus watched as Zachary adjusted himself, no doubt spreading the cooling cum around his crotch, unaware of what he was actually happening in his underwear.

The sensation of the thick liquid surrounding his cock was foreign, but also familiar, to Marcus. This wasn’t the first, or likely the last, time he and one of his friends would be in this situation.

Andrews stood on the doorstep, waving to the two retreating figures, “See you boys later, have fun, don’t get too…messy!” he shouted with a smirk.


	8. The Signs of Trance

Quinn’s entrance to the kitchen was announced by the soft slapping sound of his bare feet on the cold tiled floor. Yawning widely and stretching his arms high above his head, he moved closer to the lone figure sat eating his breakfast at the table. “Mornin’ Łukasz.” he said to the boy’s back as he finished his yawn. His greeting was met be the soft clink of a spoon hitting the bottom of the cereal bowel sat before the boy. Moving past his charge, he turned to face the youngster and repeated his greeting, this time adding a friendly wave to the end of it.

Looking up Łukasz noticed that the teenager had joined him and returned the greeting, splashing a little of the milk the still clung to his spoon onto the table as he did so. Wiping the little puddle up with the tip of his finger he locked eyes with Quinn and slid it into his mouth, moaning softly as he sucked it clean. “You’re a little tease, you know that right?” asked Quinn, pausing in the middle of pouring himself some less sugar-encrusted cereal. The boy just smirked, let his finger slip from between his lips and continued to eat his breakfast.

Quinn couldn’t believe how lucky he had been to get this job. Babysitting Łukasz was a dream come true, especially with the unexpected — but extremely welcome — extra benefits that Łukasz willingly provided. The boy was somewhat isolated from his peers, and never felt comfortable asking them if they too experienced any of his thoughts, desires or needs. Even asking his favourite teacher was out of the question, although he shared just about every other detail of his life with her. So it was Quinn — just about old enough to be a knowledgeable adult, but still young enough to be cool and relatable — who was bombarded with questions about Łukasz’s changing body and the associated feelings, along with demands for practical demonstrations.

“Can we try the thing again today?” asked Łukasz seconds after shovelling a heaped spoonful of the sugary cereal into his mouth. “Don’t talk with your mouth full.” Quinn admonished the boy who again stared him straight in the eye, challenging him with an indignant “Why not?”, adding after a couple more chews “It’s not like I’m gonna choke, it is?” The teenager maintained eye contact as he slowly and deliberately chewed his own mouthful of cereal, swallowing it before answering. “Because it’s rude to. You know how it feels don’t you, when people don’t talk to you properly.”

Quinn was worried that he had pushed the matter a little too far when Łukasz’s shoulders drooped, and he bowed his head. “Yeah.” he said, seemingly lost in thought, “I’m sorry.” he told Quinn. His babysitter smiled warmly at the genuinely apologetic look on the boy’s face, but the moment was ruined slightly as Łukasz scooped another spoonful of cereal into his mouth with one hand as he was delivering the apology and placed his balled fist over his heart with the other as he answered.

The rest of the meal continued in silence, only disturbed by an occasional ting as one or the other’s spoons collided with their bowls. “So, can we then?” asked Łukasz as he swallowed the final dregs of milk and sugar. “Do what?” asked Quinn, “Try the thing again, you’ve been practising, right?” Łukasz asked, looking suspiciously at the teenager, wondering if he hadn’t been practising and was just stalling to try to find an excuse to give him. “Oh, yeah. The thing. We really need to think of a better name for it, you now.”

The two of them had quickly developed their own way to communicate with each other whenever there was a potential for Łukasz’s mother to be party to one of their conversations. The one that always amused Quinn, due to Łukasz’s reaction when he had offered an alternative, was ‘Man Play’. Nearly all intimate activity between them, and there was quite a bit of it, after the initial questions, explanations and demonstrations was done purely for fun and absolutely at the boy’s discretion. Quinn’s suggestion to call it ‘Adult Play’, a more encompassing and accurate name for what they were doing together, was met with a look of mild disgust from Łukasz. The idea that he might want to do the thing he was doing with Quinn with a woman seemed so foreign to the boy he forbade the teenager for mentioning that he could do most of the stuff they did together with a girl if he wanted.

The thing was the most difficult and frustrating activity they did together. In and of itself it was completely non-sexual — well mostly non-sexual, for Łukasz was starting to get a boner right now just thinking what could happen if they were successful — if only they could get it to work. The problem, much to his chagrin, was with Quinn. Being older and having been exposed to much more media than Łukasz, he had some preconceived notions about what should happen when they did the thing, and was practising whenever he could to mitigate the effects.

His instinct was to close his eyes, because that’s that you do, that’s what every heroine and hero does when they are hypnotized, and that just wouldn’t work for him and Łukasz. Trying to resist the pull to let his eyes slip closed and failing, even when Łukasz studiously made no mention of it happening was a frustrating experience for both of them. They both saw the potential of including hypnosis in their ‘Man Play’ and how naughty and perverted — Quinn always smiled warmly when Łukasz had to spell out the word instead of saying it whole, not having the proper vocabulary to express his meaning, something he himself had to do for various mundane things — that their ‘play’ could ultimately be.

They had toyed with the idea of bondage, which Łukasz termed ‘Naughty String Play’ in honour of Quinn’s explanation heavily involving the use of string in place of rope, however that had a similar but distinct problem that, although Quinn would have is eyes open, in the majority of situation he would still not be able to communicate with Łukasz. The boy was amused by the fact that some people really didn’t like being gagged and not be able to talk, and even wanted to try it out on himself, but was freaked out by the mere suggestion of having his hands cuffed behind his back.

Quinn was nervously putting off the actual moment when Łukasz would get to try to hypnotize him once more, insisting that they washed the meagre amount of dishes and cutlery they had used for breakfast before the attempt was made. He knew the Łukasz disliked doing the washing up because it always left his fingers too wrinkly, but he helped the teenager anyway. “Can we have ------- for lunch?” the boy asked after shaking the suds of off his hands and towelling them dry.“Have what?” Quinn asked, not quite understanding what Łukasz wanted. “------” Łukasz repeated, slower this time. “No. Sorry, still not getting it; Can you spell it out for me?”

Łukasz sighed. Long gone was the real frustration he felt trying to communicate with Quinn as easily as he did with his mother and his peers, but these occasional lapses Quinn’s understanding were still a little annoying. “B-U-R-G-E-R-S.” Łukasz spelt out the word slowly, slower than he really needed to. “Oh, like beef burgers.” Quinn asked, making a passable attempt at the word with his first try. “Yeah. Good job.” Łukasz told him, giving him a thumbs-up.

They moved into the living room after the dishes had been put away in their proper place. Quinn took his usual position on the sofa, Łukasz stood in front of him, towering head and shoulders above the teenager. “Are you ready?” the boy asked. “Yes.” replied Quinn. “Are you sure?” Łukasz asked again, unable to keep the look of mild scepticism off of his face. “Yes.” the teenager said more forcefully, wincing as his wrist cracked. “Okay, relax. I’m gonna tell you the word. Remember, keep your eyes open.” Łukasz told him, nervously rubbing his hands together after he finished giving Quinn his instructions.

Quinn sat ready, but just as nervous, wanting this to work, not just for himself but for Łukasz too. The boy began, spelling the word letter-by-letter. They had decided to do it this way so there was no chance that Łukasz would accidentally trigger Quinn, even though neither of the actually knew how to say the word itself. T, the first letter was delivered without any trouble. R, the second letter came with the ease of the first. A, Quinn started to feel the floaty-ness he associated with being hypnotized. V, “Shit.” Łukasz exclaimed, throwing his hands up into the air in exasperation.

It was not the letter being wrong that roused Quinn from his altered state, but the sudden movement of Łukasz’s arms. “Are you okay?” he asked, fumbling over his words as he pulled himself back to reality. “Yeah, but I messed up.” the boy told him, scowling and grinding his teeth in anger. “Hey, relax, it’s okay.” the teenager said, standing and enveloping the boy in a conciliatory hug. “Let’s just try again.” he told the boy after he took a step back to give himself room to talk.

“Okay, ready.” Łukasz said, a look of intense concentration on his face. This time he was determined not to mess up. T, R, A, ‘Going well so far…’ the boy thought to himself, N, ‘Yes! Got it right!’, C, ‘That one was easy, just one more…’, E. Quinn’s eyes fluttered and Łukasz’s face fell with disappointment, but it needn’t of done so. The teenager’s eyes remained open, glassily staring at Łukasz’s outstretched hands. “Can you see me still?” asked the boy, hoping for the answer they both desired.

Quinn’s hand raised from his lap, his fingers curled tightly into a ball. He nodded, he bent his fist and in a monotone voice he said “Yes.”


	9. Perseids

Dallas had received warnings from his parents not to speak to Mr. Elliott, on several occasions in fact, and with varying degrees of success. A simple “Hi.” from the boy elicited a grumble and raised eyebrow from his parents, and a cheery “Hello!” from the man.

Going in for an offered high-five (and what eleven year old boy wouldn’t return one given the chance) garnered a sharp and stern “Dallas!” in admonition from his parents. From the man he got a hearty “Nice!” as Mr. Elliott savoured his contact with the frequently sweaty skin of the sporty boy.

Venturing into the man’s house for a cool glass of lemonade after helping out in his garden (quite voluntarily, if unusual, for the boy to offer to do work) brings about narrow-eyed, hostile glances in the man's direction. Dallas also needed to swear to them that nothing ‘funny’ had gone on between the two of them when he got home.

He had once made the mistake of saying yes, to the shocked gasps of his parents, quickly followed by sighs of relief as he recounted a funny joke Mr. Elliott had told him.

§

But now here he sits, alone with Mr. Elliott, alone, at night, and far away from home at the top of Harris Hill. Dallas didn’t quite know how he had pulled it off. His begging and pleading to his parents to go and watch the meteor show appeared to have paid off.

That, or the long conversation that Mr. Elliott had had with his parents on the subject, to persuade them to let Dallas out of their sight for a few hours.

“I still can’t believe they let me come out with you!” Dallas tells the man as he sent the first of his half-hourly reports to his parents via (yuck!) Facebook Messenger. He had tried to convince to follow his normal Snapchat (without telling them about his secret one, and definitely not telling them that Mr. Elliott followed him there!), but to no avail, he got stuck using whatever his parents had demanded.

“I told them it would help with your science grade, I know you’re failing at the moment.” the man tells him, and in the dim light he sees the boy roll his eyes. “I know you don’t find this so important, but they do, so I fed them some bell-sh…crap about you getting some extra credit for writing a first–hand account of the Perseids.”

Dallas grins, “I don’t care if you say…” for effect, he leaves a half-second pause before continuing, “…shit you know.” The man laughs and pats him on the leg, a little higher than Dallas would have expected, Mr. Elliott’s little finger barely grazing the bulge in his trousers.

Dallas looks curiously between his own crotch and the man’s face, wondering if Mr. Elliott made contact there deliberately, and now if his parents had meant ‘funny’ in a ‘bad touch’ way?

“Shit! You missed one!” Mr. Elliott calls out suddenly, using the same hand to point into the star-filled sky. “Where?” asks the suitably distracted boy as he scans the heavens. “You need to concentrate.” the man informs him as his eyes dart to-and-fro, trying to take in the whole nights sky at once. “You sound like my teachers.” the boy huffs grumpily.

Mr. Elliott chuckles and elbows Dallas gently in the ribs, “They have a point, you know, you do need to focus more.”

“Pfft!” Comes the boy’s predictable, disgruntled reply together with a surly folding of his arms in protest.

“Here, let me teach you a trick.” the man offers, and without waiting for a response continues. “Pick out a star, any star will do, and look at it. Just keep looking at it, you should just concentrate on that star right now, whatever else you do, just keep your focus on it. Only on that star and my voice.”

Dallas picks a particularly bright one with a blueish hue. “Okay.” He says, keeping his eyes fixed in place. “Now I want you to raise your arm and point to it. Point to it until I tell you to stop, got it?”

Untangling his arms, and raising the one closest to the man, he points to his chosen blue star. “Got it.” he says, his gaze shifting briefly between the tip of his finger and the distant ball of super-heated gas as he aligns them.

“Good.” says the man softly and slowly, turning to watch the boy closely. “Now, take a deep breath in for me, nice and slowly. Good boy.” He watches the boy’s chest rise, brow furrowing as he concentrates on an increasing number of tasks at once. “And out.” He adds after a measured pause, watching the slim chest fall again.

“In and out, keeping that pleasant rhythm, feeling the cool night air fill your lungs. Good boy.” A smile curls onto Dallas’ lips at the man’s praise, it makes it worth it to keep his arm held up, even though an ache begins to spread along its length.

“You will find it so much easier to concentrate when you breathe slowly and deeply; when you settle onto the soft grass, still warm from the summer sun; when you watch the star you picked just for yourself.” the man intones softly. “When you feel your arm start to get just a little heavier; when your eyelids flutter just a tiny amount; when you listen to my voice and my words, ignoring everything else…”

Dallas listens to Mr. Elliott telling how to concentrate, and focus, and relax, and drift. He listens to the man’s words, but then finds he doesn’t really need to listen to them so closely, they already move into his head of their own accord.

His head fells fuzzy and foggy; his eyes unfocused and staring beyond his pointing digit, beyond his twinkling blue star, out into the empty infinity of the universe. His finger and the arm it connects to, bob up-and-down; he barely has the strength to keep it up, but he knows he has to, because Mr. Elliott had told him to, so he has to, no matter what.

But now the man’s voice cuts through the fog, Mr. Elliott beginning to help him lower his arm, and when it reaches its destination, something very special will occur.

The man’s hand wraps around Dallas’ wrist, and he starts counting down, but Dallas doesn’t know or care which number he has gotten to. He experiences a bliss that will, not only get much, much better, but will also become accessible to him in the future. But only if Mr. Elliott chooses to allow it, because this super special secret thing between just the two of them.

The man touches Dallas’ arm and says “Sleep!”

§

“Oh.” Dallas says with a surprised little gasp as his eye slid shut, the twinkling starlight fading from his vision. His arm feels loose and limp now, outstretched fingers resting on the cooling grass. Fingers that do not belong to him comb lovingly through his hair, moving it out of the way of his dark, handsome face.

A thicker finger, possibly a thumb, brushes over his lips which part with a sigh. More fingers dance over his smooth belly, exposed now that the loose buttons on his shirt became undone, and showing off his slender frame. A warm breeze caresses his earlobe, he feels tender nibbles around the rim, followed by a wet, dexterous something probing deep inside.

A tinny clink of metal on metal, and the soft buzz of an unfastening zip emanates from further down. His form-fitting, bulging, slightly yellowed briefs easily descend his long coltish legs. Replacing the momentary chill of the evening air, hot fingers grasp his firming rod, and light, perfectly timed movements coax his boy-cock to full mast, standing proudly from his naked groin.

They move lower, playing over the tight, wrinkled sack. Dallas lets out a muted groan of confusion and excitement. The two orbs, usually guarded against all external contact now welcome all-comers—if they could furnish such delicate and exquisite delights.

Slowly a moist cavern engulfs Dallas’ prominent phallus, the wide, flat serpent living within its depths coiling around and constricting the pulsating pole. It writhes around in the dark, touching, tasting the sweet nectar that courses from its tip, emboldened by the unending stream.

His breathing quickens, his supple body squirms in the grass as paroxysms of pleasure pass through him. Something starts to build deep within him, yearning for freedom. A flick of the snake’s tongue around the crown of his jewels send him into overdrive, and with bucking hips and low, wailing moans, the thinnest streak of white suspended in a sweet, clear juice flows into the welcoming pit.

§

Dallas fumbles his phone, trying to get it back into his pocket after sending the required ‘nothing bad has happened’ update to his parents, ignoring the previous message he did not remember sending.

“Wow!” calls Dallas, pointing up at the streak of white in the void above them. “Did you see it?” he asks Mr. Elliott, turning to face the man and finding him already staring back into the boy’s flushed face.

Dallas would never of guessed that stargazing would leave him feeling so sweaty, his body so electrified, and yet so peaceful and calm at the same time.

“I did.” he tells the boy happily, “I tasted it too.” he adds, too quietly for Dallas to hear as he watches the boy wallowing unknowingly in his afterglow.


	10. Willpower Low

“Power low.” a calm female voice spoke.

“Fu—!” Jeong-Hui’s hissed, halting his exclamation just before it turned into a full curse word.

Blushing and looking around the mostly empty subway carriage, he was relieved to notice that none of the other passengers, especially the man in the suit sat next to him, had noticed his outburst.

He had been staring out of the opposite window, half focused on the darkened silhouettes and dull flashes of light that flew past beyond the pane of glass, and his own, tired looking reflection.

With auburn hair and tawny eyes, dyed from its original black and framed by stylish, large, round glasses, he was fairly good-looking — or at least he hoped so. Even if now his ordinarily tan skin was paler than usual, and he had rings forming under his eyes due to fatigue.

He was on the way home after an extended study session in the library, listening to a podcast on his phone, trying to relax before arrived at an empty house that still had chores waiting for him.

The unwelcome intrusion had jolted him out of the trance-like state the gentle rocking of the train had lulled him into. Staring back into his own reflected eye, he felt himself drifting again as the smooth voice of the podcast host whispered into his ear.

“Power low.” the lady’s soft voice said again, breaking into this thoughts once more.

With an irritated sigh he jiggled the padded cuffs clamped to the sides of his head, knowing full well that this would have no effect on the waning batteries, but doing made him feel better, even if he knew it was all in vain.

“Willpower low.” the voice came, disported now due to the failing battery.

Because that must be the reason, why else would the woman’s voice say the wrong word? It must just have been some weird glitch.

Lazily Jeong-Hui thought about pulling his phone out of his pocket to check exactly how much battery is left but…

“Willpower low.”

…actually doing that seemed like more effort than it was worth. He would just sit and listen to the rest of the episode and…

“Willpower low.”

…even listening to those other voices seemed too much of an effort now. He should probably just sit and stare at his reflection and…

“Willpower drained.”

...watch his tired eyes sliding closed; his heavy head bobbing down to rest on his chin; his arms and legs held limply beside and below him…

“Willpower drained.”

Jeong-Hui could barely hear the quiet murmur of voices in the background, what little of his conscious thoughts that remained where focus on the anticipation of the next thing the woman’s voice would say.

“Zip down.” the voice cooed softly.

The odd thing was, Jeong-Hui noticed several seconds later when his arm move of its own volition, was that it wasn’t pulling his own zip down. Instead, it had reached across to the man sat next to him, and was tugging at the fly of _his_ slacks.

“Insert hand.” he was told.

It was warm and slightly sweaty in the front of the pants, and he could feel the dampness of the man’s underwear beneath his slim, probing fingers.

“Through hole.”

His fingers wormed their way through the opening in the boxers, the pressure of their entry popping the buttons open.

“Grab hold.”

The digits curled carefully around the thickening tube of flesh inside.

“Take out.”

Keeping his light grip on the throbbing cock, Jeong-Hui fished the man’s dick out of his pants, exposing it to the air.

“Stroke down.”

He didn’t have chance to feel the member pulsing against his palm before he commenced with the downward stroke of the precum slicked dick.

“Stroke up.”

His loose fist rested against the two full balls nestled within a forest of hair for a fraction of a second before it reversed its course.

“Stroke down.”

As his fingers crested over the head they were coated with a fresh film for precum, lubricating the shaft with their descent.

“Stroke up.” — “Stroke down.”

“Stroke up.” — “Stroke down.”

“Stroke up.” — “Stroke down.”

Jeong-Hui kept up the steady squelching rhythm, as his slick hand stroked the rampant cock. He could just hear the deep, lustful moans of the man through the silence projected by his headphones and the sound of blood pumping him his ears.

There was enough of his conscious mind present to be vaguely aware of his own throbbing cock trapped in his school shorts, but the fact that he was mindlessly masturbating a stranger in an open subway carriage did not penetrate the fog swirling in his head.

He felt a heavy pulse under his fingers, then again, and again.

“Stop now.” the woman’s voice said.

He was at the top of the stroke when his hand fell still, and he felt something sticky, hot and wet spilling out onto his encircling fist.

There was stillness and silence for a minute before the voice spoke again.

“Lick hand.” it told him.

Bringing his fist to his mouth, Jeong-Hui began to lick off the warm, salty jelly. Some of it stuck to his lips, so he licked them too accompanied by a groan of desire from his left.

“End of the line.” called out a harsh, robotically feminine voice jolting Jeong-Hui awake. Startled that he had fallen asleep on the journey home, and glad that this was his destination, he hurriedly gathered his belonging. Standing and glancing one last time at his reflection, he noticed, puzzled by the sight, that he has a white blob of _something_ adorning his top lip.


	11. The Sample

The difference between the two males sat opposite each other outside the small café was stark. The youngest of the pair, a teenager probably around sixteen years old had a scruffy, unkempt appearance, but this suited him well.  
No-one passing by would give his more than a glance, and would never have the idea that they would need to commit his features to memory. If his generic, forgettable face, body and demeanour had not dissuaded passers-by form paying him close attention, the mild teenage funk emitted from his armpits and crotch would do the job nicely.

Dirty blonde hair, both in colour and dirty, unwashed greasiness, hung down to his shoulders, and in curtains in front of his cool, pale blue eyes. Crooked yellowing teeth peered out from behind an arrogant leer and were surrounded by a pair of thin pink lips. His slouching form and generally casual way of sitting showed his lack of manners even before he spoke in a rough, slang-filled drawl.

His companion was an older gentleman, dark-haired but greying with a neatly trimmed moustache, well manicured fingernails and surrounded by a pleasant, almost floral scent from his cologne, which did little at present to mask the others harsh aroma. Wearing a fitted dark grey suit, crisp white shirt and a colourful tie, he looked suited more to a boardroom than a clandestine meeting with the jeans and flannel shirt wearing youth.

“You said I would get a ‘sample’ when we met.” he said to the teenager, sipping his Earl Grey tea, casting his eyes about the town square and alighting on a young Asian boy, in an attempt to avoid looking at the scruffy young man he was meeting.

“Yeah.” the teenager said gruffly, his eyes following the man's furtive, hungry gaze to the innocent looking Chinese boy sat on the bench.

Thick black hair falling to his ears, deep brown soulful eyes, thin arms and legs ending in dainty finger and toes protected by leather sandals. The boy was dressed simply, shorts covering his thighs and brushing the tops of his knees, a t-shirt, almost just a vest, showing off most of his arms. He kicked his legs merrily, seemingly humming a tune to himself as he looked around at the throngs of people passing by.

“Cute, ain’t he.” the teenager spoke again.

As if this were his cue, even though it would have been impossible for the boy to hear from this distance, and before the man could respond, the boy hopped to his feet and wandered into the middle of the square.

“Hello everyone,” the boy called out, his high clear voice audible to everyone surrounding him, “my name is Andrew Chen, and I live at 43 McKinley Avenue, Sutton Leach.”

While doing this he had pulled his dark green t-shirt over his head and cast the garment to the ground. A pair of pointed, pink nipple adorned his chest, and he gave the left one a little tweak, groaning in pleasure or pain as he did so.

“I am a twelve years old, in Year 8 at Wood Lane High,” he told the small crowd that had stopped to stare at his display as he pulled down his short, kicking them as far away has he could, and showing that he was not wearing any underwear, “and I am a massive cock slut!”

To prove his point he sucked the middle finger of his right hand into his mouth, pursing his full pink lips around it, and proceeded to slip it around towards his pert little butt, sliding it neatly into his well-used little hole.

“I love to have my ass filled with finger, toys, cocks big and small,” he announced, slipping a second finger in and starting to stroke his rampant three-inch dick with his right hand, “and I to have my pathetic baby-dick stroked, sucked, edged, denied and locked-up, so I can’t wank myself silly and pretend that I can cum like a big boy.”

Gleefully he pooped a third finger into his already stuff hole, “I’m only happy when I’m on my knees sucking a man’s thick, juicy sweat balls, or deep-throating his enormous prick and chocking on his huge creamy load,” he informed the growing crowd, picking a few sexy and well-endowed looking men to make eye-contact with and to lick his lips lasciviously at.

Close by a college boy shifted uncomfortably, his hand disappearing into his trouser pocket to re-arrange the growing bulge present in the front of his pants. To the side two boys, bothers — one younger, the other older than Andrew — seemed to be affected by his words even more powerfully. The big brother was surreptitiously palming the tent in the front of his pants, and his little sibling had forgone all decency and had plunged his small hand into the front of his briefs trying inexpertly to mimic the Chinese boys motions.

Suddenly, and seemingly out of nowhere, a security guard rushed towards Andrew and bundled him up in a thick woven blanket, bustling his off into a nearby store. Neck craned as they watched him vanish from sight, some expressions on the crowds faces were pitying, others disappointed that the bizarrely erotic show had been cut short, but most were shocked and unbelieving of what they had just witnessed.

“Your sample.” the teenager said simply with his predatory smile as the man looked on aghast.

“Won’t he tell them, the police, that you made him do all that?” asked the man, concerned, not exactly with the boys welfare, but with his potential exposure should the teenager be arrested and questioned.

“I didn't do anything,” the teenager said with mock innocence, “as far as cute little Andy over there is concerned, everything he did was 100% his own idea, and nothing will be able to convince him otherwise.”

“My process is quite infallible.” he added proudly, surprising the man with his vocabulary and diction.

“How much?” the man asked.

“For that, two grand, if you supply the boy. If you need an acquisition, that will need to be negotiated.” the teen said smoothly.

“What about…” the man said, gulping and not finishing his sentence.

“Fetishes?” the teen asked with a sneer, casting an appraising eye over then man, wondering what is perversion might be.

“Yes, I have a few.” the man told him, not elaborating.

“Most of the common ones can are a grand: bondage, calling you ‘Daddy’, feet, nipples, spanking that sort of thing. Liking them or not liking them are the same price, but being turned on by them and hating them at the same time is double.” the teen told the man with relish, carefully watching for a reaction.

“And if I want to be able to turn them on or off?” the man enquired.

“Triggers are another grand on top for a simple on–off; more if you want more fine-tuning.” the teen said.

The man nodded, retrieving a plain brown envelope from the inside pocket of his suit jacket. “My requirement, and your down-payment, I trust it will suffice.”

The teen hefted the envelope in his hand and seemed pleased with its thickness and weight. “This will do for now, I’ll be in contact.” he said, rising from his seat.


	12. Take a Seat

“Hey Bambi, you want to help me build something?” the dark haired man asked.

“Yeah of course, Bro!” said Bambi jumping to his feet and immediately stumbling over them.

Bambi was nicknamed rather aptly. Not only did he have a luscious head of fawn coloured hair, he was as sure-footed and his namesake. He had accepted it straight-away upon being given it by his new step-brother after he literally fell into the older boys arms.

“What is it? Will I get to use the drill?” he asked excitedly.

Power tools were usually kept away the chronically clumsy boy, his step-brother the only member of the family brave enough to supply them or come within fifty-feet of the lad when he was using them.

“Not this time,” his step-bother said with a consoling smile as he saw Bambi’s disappointed face. “It’s some new garden furniture, actually a chair for you since you are staying for a while.”

Bambi was staying with his step-brother while their parents went away on a two-month-long honeymoon, in the house with a big, private garden he shared with a couple of friends. The boy had been surprised to learn that his step-brother was now living there rent-free after coming to some arrangement with his friends.

“I don’t need a chair for myself,” Bambi said with a blush, “I can just keep sitting on the grass.”

He didn’t like being the centre of attention—attention usually cause by him stumbling or tripping and falling into a heap on the floor—and having a brand-new seat of his own would surely bring some attention to him.

“It’s okay,” his step-brother told him, “the guys want you to be comfy when we are out there. They even split the cost of it with me as a sort of welcome present for you.”

“Cool.” he said, still blushing, but happy to be accepted by his step-brothers friends.

“I’ll read out the instructions and you follow them okay?” his step-brother asked.

They had open the large cardboard container that held all the parts and, weirdly, Bambi hadn't been allowed a good look at the box itself or at the little instruction booklet that came with it. He was glad though that his step-brother was letting him so the actual construction and was only supervising the proceedings.

“Okay, what do I need?” he asked, surveying the sturdy limbs and base of the chair, the wood having a fresh, natural scent that made him want to breath it in deeply; the packet of differently sized nuts, screws, bolts and lengths of leather; a number of pre-assembled brass mechanisms he was glad that he didn’t have to put together—they looked too fiddly for his often uncooperative fingers to construct.

“First looks like the base,” his step-brother announced as he scanned over the instructions, “you want those four pieces over there—see the angled bits, those are what go on the ground; that and that, the cross-bars to connect them together; and eight size three bolts, the medium-sized ones.”

Bambi sorted out the part that his step-brother had mentioned, laying them in a pattern on the grass that he assumed they would fit together in. His fumbling fingers delved into the bag of fasteners, searching for the bolts he needed, comparing widths and lengths to get correct ones.

“All these, right?” he asked, gesturing to the stained and polished wood, and holding the bolts in his tightly cupped palm so that he didn’t drop them.

“Yeah, that’s right,” his step-brother said as he looked between the pile of materials and the paper in his hand, “oh, you’ll need the Allen key too.”

“Oh, yeah, duh.” said Bambi, slapping himself on the forehead in comical fashion, and dropping his handful of bolts at the same time.

Picking them up and hunting down the Allen key that had settled at the bottom of the part bag, Bambi set about meticulously joining the pieces of wood together.

“Okay, now you need to use those four slats to join those two bits together,” his step-brother said, “but you have to do it all at once. If you just do one side first, the other won't fit in the gap, see those bits that go in the grooves?”

“Yeah,” the boy said, carefully marrying the pieces together, “like this.”

He was happy that there were no comments of “be careful” or “no, do it like that” as he made a mistake, or even a “let me do it”. That’s why he loved his step-brother, he let Bambi try to do everything himself, and only helped when asked—or when Bambi nearly cut off his finger with a power-saw.

“Yes!” Bambi called out triumphantly, leaping into the air, as he stood the first part of his new chair on the grass and it didn’t fall over or fall apart. “What’s next?” he asked eagerly.

“That’s page one done,” his step-brother said, folding the booklet to read the next set of instructions. “Now you need to add the reclining mechanism.”

He said “you”, not “we”, thought Bambi happily as he gazed at his step-brother in admiration. They were still sort of doing it together, but he was doing most of the work, all the hard parts by himself. He did have to ask which way around the mechanism went, it was kind of confusing trying to visualize it with the aid of the printed instructions, but his step-brothers intervention was minimal.

“Right. Next.” said Bambi confidently as he wiped the sweat from his brown with the back of his arm.

“This part says you’ve got to take your shirt off, and attached the back with those bits, this bit and those, and those screws.” his step-brother told him, reciting the contents of the manual.

Bambi giggled as he stripped off his top, revealing his slim olive chest. He was about to tie it around his equally slim waist when his step-brother told him to just throw it onto one of the other chairs so it would be out of the way.

“Looking good, right?” he asked, surveying his work, “Um, is it this bit next?”

He picked up the seat with two curved recesses in it, running his fingers over the exceptionally polished surface.

“Why does it look like this, and why is it so smooth?” he asked curiously.

“Yeah, that’s the next bit, and it’s like that so you don’t get splinters in your bum,” his step-brother told him, making him giggle and wiggle his cute, short-covered behind at the man, “yes, that bum.”

His step-brother gave him a light, playful spank on his rump and told him to “get on with it”, which Bambi gleefully did. The seat was fitted in no time, and in the correct orientation. But not before being rotated many times as a small amount of doubt and confusion filled Bambi.

“Okay, you need your shorts off for the next part,” his step-brother said, watching Bambi instantly comply, leaving the younger in just his briefs and flip-flops, “but before that, why don’t you sit on it, give it a feel?”

Bambi nodded and sat on the moulded wooden seat, the curvature perfectly cupping his cheeks. He gave a shriek and threw himself forwards, tumbling onto the grass to his step-brothers great amusement as he had over-balanced and nearly toppled backwards. He had leaned back and the aroma of the polished wood had made him feel dizzy and giddy at the same time.

“You need those two long articulated bits now, Bambi.” his step-brother said.

“Bambi? Are you listening to me?” he asked when he didn’t get a response.

“Huh? Oh, I was just looking at this Ladybird.” Bambi said, pointing at the bug.

At some point, while he had been in a pile on the grass, the insect had obviously crawled onto him and settled on his knee. He wasn’t sure how long he had just been staring at it, but it felt good to just sit and relax for a moment or two, or for a minute, or an hour. Bambi came back from his reverie as the Ladybird took flight, and his step-brother spoke to him again.

“Shoes off.” his step-brother told him.

He complied, kicking them away as he stood placidly, waiting for the next instruction

“You’ve got to attach the arms now, those other two articulated parts.” he said, pointing to the last to pieces of wood.

Slowly, Bambi added the bendy arms to his new chair, affixing them with the same diligence as he had with the rest of the parts. His movements were languid, but precise as he aligned holes, threaded bolts through washers and tightened them into the frame of the chair.

“Last part now,” his step-brother said, closing the manual and setting it aside, “but I’m afraid I’ll have to do this bit.”

“Okay.” said Bambi placidly, awaiting his orders with a dopey, contented smile on his face.

“You won't need your undies either.”

Bambi slid them down his lithe legs, letting them pool at his feet for a second before stepping out of the and towards his chair.

“Just get yourself comfortable and I’ll strap you in.” his step-brother told him.

Obediently, Bambi complied, positioning himself in the chair, his legs slightly apart as the fitted into the wide grooves of the leg-rests. His step-brother added the final touches, the leather straps around his wrists and just about his elbows; his ankles and just above his knees; across his belly and chest, each positioned to best show off his bellybutton and nipples; and lastly around his neck and forehead, keeping is head in the perfect position.

“Just relax and enjoy yourself.” his step-brother advised.

Bambi’s whole body was tilted backwards, his head falling lower than his chest, and his bottom rising above his belly. His arms, held immobile, were moved into a comfortable resting position, and his lefts were bent at the knee, still held against the wooden splint, and widened to allow his step-brother into position.

Through the swirling fog and faint buzz in his brain, Bambi heard a zip being lowered and an appreciative groan from his step-brother as he pressed something warm, firm and slightly sticky between his spread cheeks.

“We’re all going to have so much fun.” his step-brother said, pushing forwards.

§


	13. The Boy and the Wardrobe

“Wow, it’s going to be really tall!” Squirt said as he lay next to the back-panel of the new wardrobe-like storage unit he was helping to build.

He had been give that name when he and the man had first met, and much to his continued aggravation, it suited him to a tee.

Arm stretched fully above his head, and his toes pointing as far away from his body as he could muster, the panel was his equal in length.

“No, it’s just that you’re a short-arse, Squirt.” the man said with a chuckle, eyeing the elongated form of the boy as he strained to make himself a fraction of an inch longer.

With a grunt Squirt relaxed and rolled onto his front, pushing himself, with practised ease and grace, first onto his hands and knees, then sprang up onto his feet.

“Ta-da!” he called out jubilantly, expecting a round of applause.

“Stop messing about, we’ve got work to do.” the man said, not unkindly, but still with a firm tone of voice.

Squirt tutted. “Okay, Boss.” he said, skipping over the where the rest of the panels resided, leaning against the wall of the moderately sized bedroom.

Unusually for their situation, the man had given Squirt the honour of choosing his name, and this was the first off-the cuff remark Squirt had made, which amused the man, and the name had stuck.

The man watched as Squirt struggled with the next panel, a shallow but tall piece of solid wood, manoeuvring it into position at the side of the firs panel, standing it on it long edge before shuffling it to-and-fro to square if off.

The next panel wasn’t easy to move either, and journey caused extra pain to Squirt to go along with the dull ache he already felt in his arms and legs after the exertion of carrying each of the heavy wooden parts up two flights of stairs.

That extra pain came when he unwisely, and quite accidentality, rested it on the floor, but did not move his bare toes out of the way. A sharp gasp at the sudden hurt, a low muttered epithet, and a vow to himself that he would not do that again accompanied the second side panel into the room.

“Here Boss,” Squirt said, handing the weighty power drill to the man.

He dropped to his knees, a clutch of screw s in one hand, and a boy-sized manual screwdriver in the other, and began to drive the screws into the dense wood. Panting and mopping his brow he looked over at the man, who had finished his part of the task ages ago, with a tiny pang of jealousy. He knew it wasn’t his place to be able to those tools, but he was glad that the man was helping him.

“Okay, back panel next,” Squirt announced, “can you help guide it when I lift it Boss?” he added hopefully, pointing to the groves on the edges of the side-panels.

“I think I can manage that.” the man said.

True to his word, the man helped guide the panel into place, doing the minimum to help Squirt as he wrestled with the unwieldy rectangle of woof, observing the boy carefully as his underdeveloped muscles strained under the effort.

“Oh crap!” moaned Squirt as he stood back to take in his handiwork.

He had screwed in all the screws on this panel, the man opting to sit out of bending over the unit, letting Squirt do all the work by hand. Squirt’s face fell as he realized that there was an overhang to the top panel, and the part the jutted out was at the front of the unit, and the unit was currently laying face-down on the floor.

There were two options available to him now, the first to completely disassemble the thing and reassemble it the right way up—a task the man assured him he would have to complete himself since it was his mistake in the first place—or he could lift it—theoretically anyway— and tip it over onto its back.

“Put your back into it Squirt.” the man said, trying not to sound too amused by the spectacle before him.

The lithe boy had managed to slip his fingertips under the edge of the unit, wiggle the further in, and lift the end about a foot into the air—all to the tune of a cacophony of annoyed grunts. He had gotten it raised to about a forty-five-degree angle before twisting his wrist, so he was pushing instead of lifting the unit into an upright position.

“Shit!” he cried out as gravity took hold and threatened to drag the unit past standing and into a rapid descent away from Squirt. It was only by the man’s timely intervention—bracing the unit from the other side—that prevented it from toppling over.

Squirt let out a long sigh, grabbing his loose collar and fanning himself with his hand. Sweat trickled down his neck, over his shoulder and along his chest which was rising and falling quickly as his lungs tired to fill his aching body with much-needed oxygen. He felt exhausted already, and he still needed to lower the massive unit, attach the top, stand it up again—again!—and move it into position. By now even his knees were sweating, something he wouldn’t of thought possible before starting this endeavour.

The worst and scariest, part of the procedure had been when he had tried to adjust his grip on the unit’s frame and the door had swung open, dislodging one of his hands and almost hitting him in the face. But it did afford him the opportunity to ask the man a question while he tried to catch his breath and regain some feeling in his aching limbs.

“Boss, why is there a mounting bracket on the door?”

“That’s where the screen is connected Squirt,” the man told him, “see here, that’s where the wiring goes to hook it up.”

The man gestured towards a small cut-out in the back panel where the cable would be threaded through to the screen. With this revelation Squirt got his second-wind, and suddenly feeling energized he man-handle the unit, turning 180 degrees on the spot and lowering it—grunting from the effort again—back to the floor so that he could attach the top panel.

“Ugh, I stink.” Squirt said, mildly disgusted as he sniffed his own armpit.

He just needed to attach the bottom panel and let the man do the technical stuff with the screen, and the unit would be ready.

The man moved next to him and lifted his arm, sniffing at the pit too.

“Mm, I don’t think you stink, I think you smell,” he stuck out his tongue and licked the hairless skin, “and taste fantastic.”

“Ew! You’re gross Boss,” Squirt cried, but made no attempt to move away, “and I’ve still got work to do, so stop it.”

The man chuckled at the admonishment and compiled, but only after a second lick.

“A little to the right.” the man ordered as Squirt laid his entire, almost insignificant weight against the unit in an effort to move it the fraction of an inch the man requested.

“A little to the left now.” the man added, smirking as Squirt huffed and moved to the other side of the unit to push it back into the exact position it had started in.

Anxiously Squirt waited as the man plugged coloured plugs into matching coloured sockets, connecting the screen to the power and data outlets close by. He had finished adding the fitting to the inside of the unit as the man had been organizing the cables, surreptitiously giving them a quick test while the man was distracted.

“When do I get to use it Boss?” Squirt asked, eyeing the screen with longing.

The last of the adrenaline that had been pumping through his little body after he found out the unit came with a screen had petered out, and now he could barely stand. Exhausted and wanting to relax he looked at the unit with a satisfied grin. He had done it, put it together himself, it was his—well, technically it was the man’s, but Squirt was the one who was going to use it.

“All done, are you ready Squirt?” the man asked, turning to look at the sagging form of the boy.

“Yeah, I am Boss.” said Squirt.

“Let’s get you strapped in then.” the man said.

Feet apart and bound in soft leather cuffs; arms held aloft in opposite corners, held in place with more supple leather, Squirt was held immobile in his new storage unit. The door had been closed minutes ago and all that accompanied him in the inky darkness was his quickened, excited breath and a faint grey glow from the screen.

The anticipation was almost as good as the event itself. Waiting for the screen to come on, trying to guess what the program would be; not just its content, but would it be a classic black-and-white spiral; a multi-coloured sea of triangles rapidly switching from blue to green to red; maybe a stroboscopic effect, he liked the 6Hz one, it made him feel nice and mellow, but the 11Hz one always made him feel a little odd, and not in a good way.

Squirt hoped that the man wouldn’t blast him with the cock-sucking subliminal training this time. It wasn’t that he didn’t like them, or not like sucking cock, but they always made his mouth water, and the man hadn’t let him had a shower after finishing, and he didn’t want to cover himself in drool as well as sweat.

The ones that taught him butt stuff were fun too, but also frustrating. Knowing and being told how good something feels wiggling around in your but, and having ten slim, dextrous fingers able to do the wiggling was really annoying when those fingers, and the hands they were connected to, were tied up and useless.

A low thrum echo around the interior of the unit, and Squirts pulse quickened. It was starting, and his unruly dick locked in its little cage knew it. A dot, expanding into a circle, rushed at him, flashing words in its wake he could not consciously see. Another dot, another circle, more words; Squirt let them flow over him, eagerly accepting whatever his _Boss_ wanted him to learn.

§


	14. Construct-a-Bear

Newt was torn; should he s t ay, or should he go?  For starters, he would never of believed a place like this existed that he would have to leave from, which was a big tick in the ‘go’ column. The problem was, everything he was there fascinated him, not that he knew the purpose of all the objects on display, but he could guess at a lot of them.

If anyone had told him before he saw it with his own eyes, he would have laughed at them when they told him there was a secret adults only section at  _ Construct _ _ -a-Bear _ that was full of weird adult toys to add on to stuffed animals.

It was the sort of place that usually had an ‘over 21s only’ hanging sign outside it, and he was definitely not twenty-one, being just barely even half of that age!

He had wandered past the dark velvet curtain—quite accidentally—in search of some light-up eyes for his bear. Logically, he thought, anything like that would be in a darkened room, behind a dark curtain, where you would be able to see them better.

What he did see shocked and excited him. Toys like the one his mum kept in her bedside cabinet, but of all different sizes, shapes and colours. Other stuff too, that looked kinda the same, but different, and more stuff that he had no idea the purpose of.

The thing like his mum’s—which was shaped like a giant hard willy—was attached to some sort of leather harness on the private part of a bear, sticking out obscenely and making his own little willy start to stand up as he looked at it.  Peering closely he noticed a small button located just behind the balls and was curious to what it was there for.

“Eep!” he squeaked as, with a trembling hand, he touched the button and the whole willy started humming and shaking really fast. Grabbing hold of it to try to keep it still as he poked at the button again, his fingers traced the veins as it vibrated in his grip. Panting and with his heart pounding, he quickly moved to the next display when he at last managed to stop it.

The next bear was a boy-bear—he could tell because of the fabric willy hanging below it—had been placed face-down on all fours with a white s-shaped thing sticking out of its bum-hole. He tried to think what it was doing there and concluded that the bear was acting as a holder for the thing, and he would have to pull it out to properly see what it was.

It came out fairly easily, a thin ribbed shaft widening to a bulbous head. Obviously it went into someone's bum he decided, and obviously a boy’s bum too, since it was a boy-bear, but he wouldn’t work out why anyone would put something  **in** their bum.  Shrugging, he replaced it back into the bear, not wanting anyone to discover he had been playing with it.

B ear number three came as a shock ,  if only because it was an actual boy-sized— about a head shorter that Newt— bear!  It was clear that it was a boy-bear too, because it had boy-sized bits—“boy, bear, bits,” Newt said to himself in a sing-son voice. Pulled across, and slightly digging into, its golden fur was a very long length of bright red rope criss-crossing its chest, belly, and even down between its legs.

It looked kinda tight, felt like it too as he tried to slip a finger under the rope. He and one of his best friends had played tie-up games before, and they had made him feel funny in his tummy, but they had never tied each other—well, Newt was the only one who ever got tied-up for some reason—this tight before, and he wondered if it would hurt, or feel even better.

The last bear on this row was a girl-bear—yuck! girl-bears are nearly as yucky as real girls in Newt’s opinion—wearing panties and a bra, and had a big red ball connected to a leather belt in its mouth. It looked kind of uncomfortable, and Newt stretched his mouth open as wide as he could, mimicking the bear, to see how it would feel.

His jaw started to ache after a few moments, so he closed his mouth. But he did sort of want to know what it would actually feel like. He was disappointed, and strangely excited, to discover that he could not remove it as the buckle at the back of the bears head had a small padlock attached to it!

T urning the corner to go into the next row he found the exact thing he never knew he was looking for. A bear with light-up eyes, but not boring ones like the rich amber ones he had been envisioning when he had stumbled into the back-room, but multi-coloured, ever-shifting ones.

As if drawn to it like a magnet, Newt took stumbling step after stumbling step towards the magnificent bear, the brightness and complexity of its colourful eyes increasing as he staggered closer. A multitude of kaleidoscopic patterns danced in those glassy orbs, mirroring themselves onto Newts rapidly dulling eyes.

He did not know how long he stood there, mouth open and drooling slightly, before the man came up behind him. It could have been second, minutes, hours, days even, he did not care then or now.

“Hi, what’s your name?” asked the man softly, leaning down to whisper into Newt’s ear.

“I’m Newt,” the boy responded in a dull voice.

“That’s a nice name,” the man said, gently touching the boy’s arm. “Is it your real one?”

“I guess,” Newt said vaguely, “It’s what everyone calls me.”

“Do you think that you’re a bit young to be in here?” the man questioned, his other hand slipping around the boy’s waist, finger brushing along the sliver of exposed belly.

“Maybe,” Newt replied. He didn’t **know** that he was too young to be there, he hadn’t seen any actual sign, so he wasn’t lying, not really.

“That’s okay,” the man said, sliding his first hand the length of the boy’s arm and delving past the trim of his short with his fingertips, and the second creeping up the skin of his belly to his slim chest. “Actually, I think you’re just the right age; how old are you?”

“Thank you,” Newt said, not knowing quite what else to say as he became more absorbed in the swirling, overlapping designs playing in the captivating bear’s eyes. “I’m ten-years-old.”

“That’s fantastic,” the man informed the boy, dipping his fingers into the back of Newt’s briefs, cupping his squishy butt, and running small circles around the pointy, pink nipples with the other hand. “I’m an assistant here, you know.”

“Oh,” said Newt, a note of unease and trepidation entering his voice. “Am I in trouble?”

“No, not at all sweetie,” the man said, pressing his face into the boy’s hair and deeply inhaling Newt’s scent, tangy Pineapple shampoo and sweet boy-sweat. “I’m here to give you _exactly_ what you need.”

“Thank you,” Newt said gratefully as the man’s hands moved to converge on the hem of the boy’s t-shirt, lifting it easily over his head.

Newt let out a small whimper of frustration as his vision of the dazzling,  enthralling light-show was obscured for a fraction of a second,  then a whimper of surprise as the man kissed his way down the back of his neck, along his spine and to the cleft of his butt-cheeks.

The ‘assistant’ slid his hands smoothly over the boy’s hips, capturing and lowering Newt’s shorts and briefs in one simple movement, pooling them at the boy’s skinny ankles.

Newt shivered as the cool air touched his entire, naked body, his little willy now free to fully rise, stretching out towards the bewitching light that seemed to caress it along with the boy’s dulled and compliant mind.

Discomfort barely registered through the fog the mind-bending bear was generating in his head;  a light tickling buzz passed over his bouncing willy, making it stand taller still;  a slight coldness and pressure at his puckered little starfish; snug lines being drawn across his pale skin, pulled taut and accentuating his soon to be hidden bobbing stalk; compression of tongue and lips, a tiny  _ click _ , as something was cinched  securely around and behind his tousle-haired head  before being remove d .

H e squirmed as he walked through the bright, open room, moving from bin to bin, trying to find the colour of eye he wanted for his bear. Something was pleasantly itching deep in his butt, pressing against  a  small but gradually awakening  bump in there . His chest and belly felt tight as he breathed, as if dozens of long, skinny arms were constantly hugging him.  His little willy was stiff in his shorts, and it felt like it was shivering still.  In the bag in his hand, he could  the weight of the long battery-powered cylinder, and hear a little buckle jiggling again soft leather and hard plastic.

§


	15. Birthday Present(s)

“Hey Peanut,” called the young man as he closed the door behind him. “Are you home?”

“Hey big cuz!” called the boy, sprinting down the hallway to embrace his favourite cousin.

“Happy birthday,” the man said, returning the hug, lifting the lithe boy off of his feet. “Thirteen already, huh?”

“Not for three more days,” Peanut corrected, rolling his eye in an exaggerated fashion. “I’m not a gross teenager yet like you!”

“Am not gross,” the man said with a faked pout. “And I’m not going to be a teenager much longer.”

“What, you’re going to be twenty in like, two months?” the boy said, starting to count out the weeks on his fingers as he walked deeper into the house, the young man following him.

“A month-and-a-half,” the man told Peanut.

“You want a drink?” the boy asked, gesturing for the man to sit at the table as they entered the kitchen.

“Yeah,” said the man. “A cola will do.”

Peanut rummaged in the fridge and a cupboard, searching for a couple of cold can and a pair of glasses. When he turned back to the table, placing the drink on it carefully, he noticed a large, brightly wrapped box standing in the middle of it.

“You didn’t have to get me anything,” he told his cousin, cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “I know you don’t have a lot of cash because of Uni and stuff.”

“It’s fine Peanut,” the man said, patting the boy reassuringly on the top of the head, ruffling Peanut’s dark hair, and blushing himself. “A lot of it is left-overs from my course work. But it’s top quality stuff, most of it custom-made.”

“Cool,” whispered Peanut, staring avidly at the gift-wrapped box. “Can I open it early, since you’re not going to be here for the party?”

“Of course,” the man said. “I wouldn’t want to miss seeing your face when you see what it does.”

Peanut tore at the paper, shredding it as he revealed the printed cardboard box below.

“One of my buddies is doing graphic design,” the man said as Peanut gazed in awe at the container. “I think he did a pretty good job.”

“Yeah,” the boy breath. “Is this really for me?”

“It is!” his cousin said enthusiastically. “Go ahead and open it.”

Peanut did, carefully pulling own a flap and pouring the contents onto the tabletop. Thin strips of metal with punched holes along their lengths; countless nuts and bolts to hold them together with; long and short runs of wires with multi-coloured LEDs dotted along some of their lengths; pulleys and rubber bands, cogs and spindles, and a zig-zag handle; and a couple of small boxed electrical components.

He started to put the pieces together with meticulous attention to detail, slowly building up the wheel and the frame that housed it. His cousin helped where needed, positioned so close the boy that he practically had Peanut sitting in his lap, arm slipped under the boy’s arms, hand resting on the smooth thighs when not fiddling with this component or that.

“How does do the lights light up?” asked Peanut confused as he could not find a battery compartment or USB socket to hook the device up with.

“It’s mechanical,” his the man informed him, pointing out the part connected to the gears that connected to the handle. “That’s a generator dynamo, like the one on your bike to power its lights.”

“Oh, cool,” Peanut said, enthralled. “So I just turn this, and it makes it go.”

He gave the handle a few turns, the LEDs lighting briefly before dimming again.

“That’s it,” the man told him encouragingly. “Just keep turning it, round-and-round.”

Peanut followed his cousins instruction, constantly rotating the handle as the lights burst into life, rotating and blinking on-and-off. He watched them for a while, trying to discern a pattern, but each time he thought he knew which sequence of lights would be illuminating next, he found out that he was wrong and had to redouble his concentration.

That fact didn’t seem to bother him as the man was plying him with constant praise, telling him how well he was doing, and that it didn’t matter if he couldn’t quite catch the pattern, that he could just keep watching, and relaxing, and just go with the flow of everything that was happening.

T he young man watched as Peanut’s face slacken and his eyes dimmed; the slim arm obediently rotating the alluring lights as their glow dulled his youthful mind.

“You’re such a good boy, such a clever boy, Peanut,” the man whispered into the captivated boy’s ear. “That you deserve part two of your present right now.”

He stood up and pulled back his chair, creating a gap for him to be able to crawl under the table and kneel in front of his cute little cousin. Placing his hand gently on the boy’s knees, he widened the slim legs revealing a growing bulge in the tight pants.

Leaning forward he breathed in deeply, catching the light scent of boyishness emanating from the youngster groin. He pressed his nose deeper into the folds, rubbing it against the thickening stalk, gratified to hear a low,  lewd moan from above his head.

“Keep turning the crank,” he reminded Peanut. “And it will make this feel a whole lot better.”

It was easy to open the button atop the boy’s fly, so well-worn were the comfortable pants he was wearing. The fly itself came down with a soft buzz too, showing the—almost entirely—white briefs below. The man sniffed eagerly at the pale yellow stain and detect the fragrance of stale urine, stale cum, and fresh precum.

He lapped at the discolourations, tasting the subtle but distinct flavours, dampening the cloth with his saliva and bringing the old, dried remnants back to life.  His moans of delight reverberated through the boy’s cock and balls, firming them up as Peanut gasped and groaned from above.

“If you like that,” the man said, more to himself than to the boy. “You’ll love what I’m going to do to ‘little Peanut’.”

With practised ease, the man parted the fly of the briefs,  revealing Peanut’s boy-cock to his lustful  gaze, sliding it up and over the head of the cock, letting the entire shaft pop out. Probing finger slipped along its length, delving underneath to free the two trapped orbs, freeing Peanut’s entire package.

“Nice,” the man muttered as he stroked the four-and-a-half-inch long boy-cock lovingly between his fingers. “You should be very proud of what you’ve got, Peanut.”

Warm breath teased the boy’s balls as the man bent forward to suck and nibble on the soft, sensitive flesh of Peanut’s scrotum, making him mewl and squirm in his seat. The tip of his tongue travelled over every hill and into every valley, searching for the sweet pre-teen ball-sweat, covering the sac with a light sheen of saliva, making it glisten in the soft light of the early afternoon.

His hands had not been idle as he bathed the ball-bag, pumping and teasing the firm stalk, slowly peeling back Peanut’s foreskin, exposing his dark pink glans to the cool air of the kitchen. With one finger he scooped up a glob of precum from the boy’s prodigious flow, tracing it around the delicate glans, enjoying the surprised whines of the boy as his cock-let was  expertly manipulated.

“Do you like my mouth on your bits?” the man asked aloud, releasing the slippery sac, grinning as he heard an absent grunt off assent. “Then you’re gonna love this.”

P eanut jumped, missing half a turn of the handle as his whole dick was plunged into a warm, wet cave. A skilful  serpent coiled around it, teasing the tips, the rim and the tight from of flesh bunched up below the head. The alternating sensations of vacuum and his cock floating almost unsupported in space drove him wild, bucking his hips subtly, trying to get his cock to make contact with anything in the void.

A quick lash of the tongue brought a thrill of sensation and drew a surprised  _ “eep!” _ from the  enthralled boy’s lips. He was panting, feeling more pleasure from his dick than ever before, and then having it robbed from his as the man’s ministration temporarily stopped.  Peanut stared at the entrancing lights he was unwittingly using them to push himself deeper into this mind-blowing experience as he felt something shift inside him.

His cousin was happily playing with the boy, edging him close to an explosive orgasm the likes of which the boy had never imagined, and then denying him at the last moment, prolonging his ecstasy for a few moments longer. But of course, an almost thirteen-year-old boy cannot be expected to last forever, not even with the mind-numbing power of the man’s invention.

With a grunt Peanut came, unleashing a torrent of thick teenage cum into the man’s mouth. His first ejaculation that was more white than clear, his balls pumped and strained to unload their entire contents into his cousin.

The man took in his little cousins’ panting form as he emerged from under the table, licking his lips clean of the boy’s bountiful jizz.

§


	16. Sweatshop

“I assure you both, they are all here of their own volition,” the man said, gesturing broadly to the heads of the dozens of boy, all that could be seen of them over the cubicles they stood in.

“Volition means…” he started to say, looking at Tiger with a condescending look on his face.

“They are here of their own free will,” Tiger finished for him, “just like all of your literature says,” he added, giving the man a sceptical look.

Tiger—the nickname and pen-name suiting him due to his tenaciousness—and his father were both journalists, the young for his school paper, the older for a fairly popular local outlet. They were here at Harrison’s Assembly Inc. Trying to get an exposé on the workforce, uniformly boys between the ages of twelve and sixteen.

“But it doesn’t mention the percentage of the boys who have quit school to work here full-time does it, Tiger said mildly, watching carefully for the man’s reaction.

“But I assure you that, even though that may be the case, it is entirely the decision of the boys to do so,” the owner told the boy smoothly.

“ _Hmm, there is a lot of ‘assuring’ going of for what seems to be a legit business,”_ Tiger thought to himself.

“You can have a look for yourself if you like? See why the boys choose to come back day after day?” the owner suggested.

Tiger kept his face in its neutral, almost bored position despite being elated with this turn of events. He had hoped to have been permitted to just hang around the stall while his father conducted his interview with the man in his office, but this was an opportunity he could not pass up. If he could ingratiate himself with the other boys, become one of their number, he would have a much easier time digging up some dirt on this operation.

“Yeah, I suppose I could,” he told the man with a shrug.

“We’ll pay you the going rate of course, for as long as you are working,” the man told him.

Tiger didn’t have to fake the twinkle in his eye at the promise of money, he was constantly badgering his father for an increase in his allowance, and this small boost to his  funds would be very welcome.

“You will have to be locked in the booth, for safety you understand,” the owner said, “but at any point if you wish to leave, just call over one if the attendants,”—he pointed to the ends of the rows to two men sitting on stools, one reading a newspaper, the other playing with his phone—“and they will let you out.”

“Okay, that sounds cool,” Tiger said as the owner ushered him into a stall, closing the door behind him with a clunk and a beep.

The layout in the cubicle was simple, a wide, flat, horizontal worktop with an integrated screen dominated the space; to each side of it were black, rubberised convertor belts, one presumably to deliver the components  which he would be assembling, and the other to send them on to wherever they needed to go once put together.

T he only out of the ordinary thing that Tiger could notice at the moment, aside from being locked in the cubicle, was the weird rainbow glimmer around the edge of the screen. If nothing else untoward occurred, he could at least write about the potential damage to all the kids eyes who spend eight hours staring at these sub-par screen.

With a flash and a jitter, the screen sparked to life, displaying the first step to his instructions as a small red plastic tub containing myriad part was shunted along the conveyor towards him. He surmised there must be a concealed camera somewhere, because as he finished the first step, the second flashed up on screen, directing how to proceed with the assembly.

His face betrayed a flicker of annoyance as the fifth instruction sort of lagged for a second before it popped up, making him feel momentarily dizzy. He thought about asking one of the boys either side of him if that had happened to their screen, but as he started to turn away, the screen rippled slightly, re-capturing his attention.

As he deposited the completed item in the red bin and placed it on the outward conveyor, watching it disappear into the dark hole, a bright message flashed up on the screen startling him, but making his heart swell with pride and painting a goofy grin on his face.

**\--WELL DONE--**

He didn’t have time to bask in the glow of his accomplishment as the next box of components—blue this time—arrived and a new set of instruction  shimmered to life on the screen.

**\--GOOD WORK--**

**\--GREAT EFFORT--**

**\--NICE JOB--**

**\--DOING GOOD--**

**\--NICELY DONE--**

Tiger was surprised how relaxing doing the work was, he had all but forgotten why he was here in the first place. The rhythm he had gotten into, and the constant praise was the only thing occupying his thoughts right now.

“Ugh. Another newbie. Is it so hard to let us know?” asked the disgruntled attendant as he passed Tiger’s booth.

The boy barely registered the man’s voice, concentrating as he was on putting together his latest knick-knack.

“They didn’t even connect you up,” the man said apologetically to the utterly distracted boy as he peered over the cubicle's door.

A sequence of beep sounded as the man tapped the unlock code into the door and opened it, stepping in behind Tiger and glanced at the boy's completion counter.

“Let’s get you hooked up quick,” said the man, reaching past the boy to grab something from under the screen, “you’re nearly at the fun bit, don’t want to miss your first time.”

If anything could have drawn Tiger’s attention away from his tasks, it would have been the fact that the man had just unbuckled his belt, and was currently pushing his trousers and boxers down his slim legs. There was a moment when he was going to protest, but a bright flash from the screen drew his attention back to his work.

He felt the odd sensation of a ring being fitted at the base of his shaft, behind his balls as he completed his seventh task.

**\--DOING WELL--**

Throughout his eight task he felt the man separating his orbs into two compartments, and attaching their container to the first ring. The felt a little squeezed, but the slight pressure actually felt good, which surprised Tiger.

**\--GOOD JOB--**

His ninth task coincided with his dick being slipped into a tube that was very slightly too narrow and short for it. As it was locked onto the ring too he could feel the ache in his dick growing. That felt good too, making the shaft thicken and lengthen, increasing the nice feeling of compression.

**\--GREAT WORK--**

“What’s your name, kid?” the man asked.

“’s Tiger.” the boy said.

“Okay Tiger, this next bit is going to feel a bit weird,” he told the boy, “just take some nice, deep breaths, try to relax and push back a bit.”

Tiger was confused as what was going to happen as the man massaged his butt cheeks, thick fingers occasionally slipping down the valley between them and gliding over the twitching hole.

“Oh.” said Tiger in a far-away voice as he felt a cool, slippery, rounded thing touching his thole.

He moaned softly as pressure built back there before remembering the man’s words. As soon as he relaxed and began to back onto the probe it began to slip readily into his unexplored ass. He bit his lip and paused in his task as the thickening bulb threatened to push his ring to breaking point But suddenly, with an inaudible pop, it slid right into him as if his ass had swallowed it whole.

“Ah! Oh!” Tiger exclaimed as the head of the probe came to rest on his previously untouched prostate.

“Feels good, right?” asked the man as he began to leave the booth.

Tiger could feel the odd, but not unpleasant, tightness and weight on his cock and balls, and the strange fullness in his ass. It was comfortable, but also sort of frustrating in an indescribable way, like his boy-bits—including the one inside him that he had no idea about until now—were being lightly caressed by invisible, incorporeal fingers.

“Yeah.” breathed Tiger, putting the last piece of the gadget together and dropping it in the bin.

**\--CONGRATULATIONS!--**

**\--10 TASKS COMPLETED--**

Tiger grinned broadly at the exuberant praise, then his knees buckled.

The freshly inserted probe began to beat out a staccato rhythm on his immature boy-button. He fell to the knees, barely managing to catch hold of the edge of the screen, his face pressed against it as it swirled with rainbow colours. His body was electrified as new sensations coursed though it. He was going to cum any second, without even touching his throbbing dick, something he realised vaguely that he could no longer do even if he had the wherewithal to do so.

It didn’t matter that he was going to shoot all over the booth; that the attendants and the other ninety-nine boys would hear his cries of pleasure; that his father would soon find him read face and sweaty after the mother of all orgasms.

He was there, at the climax and… nothing. It all stopped. All except the pulsing need in his belly.

The next task appeared on his screen. He wanted to feel that again. He pushed himself shakily to his feet. With trembling fingers he assembled the next thing, blindly following his instructions.

**\--GOOD JOB--**

Was that it? Where was the all-consuming pleasure? Did he really have to do nine more tasks to feel that again? He had to find out. With an increased fervour he powered through each little job.

**\--GOOD WORK--**

**\--GREAT EFFORT--**

**\--NICE JOB--**

**\--DOING GOOD--**

**\--NICELY DONE--**

**\--DOING WELL--**

**\--GOOD JOB--**

**\--GREAT WORK--**

**\--WELL DONE--**

No! That was number twenty, wasn’t it? Where was the thrumming again that nub deep inside his belly? Did he miscount? Was the next one not at twenty, maybe twenty-five? Thirty? Could he wait that long? Or should he call for the attendant to get released, run off to a bathroom—or maybe not even bother leaving the booth—and furiously pull on his little pub to get himself off.

No, he could manage ten more, just to check. If it didn’t happen by then, he would quit. Definitely. For sure.

**\--DOING GOOD--**

**\--NICELY DONE--**

He had a harder time completing the next few tasks, his mind wandering to the extraordinary pleasure he had felt.

**\--CONGRATULATIONS!--**

**\--** **23** **TASKS COMPLETED--**

T he tube around his rock-hard boy-cock began to vibrate  in waves running the entire length from base to just below his flaring corona. He gripped the edge of the screen somehow remaining standing this time. He squeezed his slim thighs together in the vain hope that he could push the rolling sensation just that little bit further to tickle the head of his dick and make his shoot. Minutes passed as the feelings intensified, but just as with the completion of his tenth task, they cut out before he exploded.

Tiger grunted and groaned with frustration. He desperately needed to cum, but equally, the  feeling of being worked so close to the edge and being denied was intoxicating. The light-show that emanated from his screen only enhancing the experience.

**\--DOING WELL--**

**\--GOOD JOB--**

**\--GREAT WORK--**

**\--CONGRATULATIONS!--**

**\--27 TASKS COMPLETED--**

“Ugh!” Tiger grunted.

His sensitive balls were being rolled around in their new pouches, rubbed and caresses, tickled and teased by stubby little tentacles dancing over their delicate, wrinkled surfaces. He could hardly conceive that something so sensitive, something that is usually so well guarded against outside influence, could be made to feel to good when touched like this.

He was annoyed, but now not so surprised, when at the very brink of his climax he was once again denied.

**\--GOOD WORK--**

**\--GREAT EFFORT--**

**\--CONGRATULATIONS!--**

**\--** **30** **TASKS COMPLETED--**

After thirty tasks Newt received another reward of slow rising and falling pulses of pleasure against his prostate, as well as his balls being gently tugged away from his groin, and rhythmically squeezed to the point just before discomfort. This was to be the last guaranteed reward he would receive before his sixtieth, and then hundredth, task completions, but the panting, denied boy did not know it yet.

Any of the next twenty-nine tasks  _ could _ bring him the maddening feelings that he now craved, pushing his horniness and desire to comply ever higher, or none of them could.

**\--DOING GOOD--**

**\--NICELY DONE--**

**\--DOING WELL--**

**\--GOOD JOB--**

**\--GREAT WORK--**

“Hey Tiger, I’m done,” Tiger’s father called over the edge of the booth.

“Huh?” asked the boy in a daze.

Any other time he would be glad that there was a partition between the two of them, shielding his naked lower-half and his new accessories from his father’s eyes. But right now all he cared about was completing his task in the hope that _this one_ would bring a new, powerful sensation to his dick, ball or ass.

“We can go now,” his father said looking curiously at his son’s goofy grin as the boy turned to face him.

“Oh… Um…” Tiger replied, glancing back at his screen to see how much work he had left to do on his current task.

“You can stay if you want,” the owner interjected, suppressing a grin, knowing the boy’s current condition, “you can pick him up later, if you want, at about five-thirty.”

“Is that okay with you?” Tiger’s father asked.

“Yuh.” he replied, trying to hide his annoyance at not being able to keep working.

“Okay, see you later.” his father said as he and the owner left.

At ten minutes to five all the boys stock still stood in their booths, staring down at their screens as a multitude of colours and patterns flowed smoothly over its surface. The last boy had just finished his last task, and they were waiting for close of business. Minute ticked past, closing in on five o’clock.

In the same precise second several things happened all at once: every prostate massager, testicle cup and penis sheath began to pulse, jiggle and vibrate; every boy let out a wail, bellow, cry or howl of unbridled pleasure; a torrent of pent-up semen gushed out of a hundred throbbing cocks to be collected for unknowable purposes; small frail pre-pubescent bodies, tall stocky teenage bodies, and every size and shape in-between shuddered in delight as they finally achieved release.

“Just a couple, maybe a few, days off school to go back, father,” Tiger begged as they sat at the kitchen table eating their evening meal, “I got off—got off with—got on with one of the boys next to me. I think if a go back a few more times, I’ll earn his trust.”

“ _Please believe me, please, please!”_ begged Tiger silently in his head.

“You think you can get something?” his father asked, considering the request.

“Definitely,” Tiger told the man, “I think I’m beginning to understand why they go back. I just need some more info and to do some more _resea_ _r_ _ch_.”

§


	17. County Roads, Take Me Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: this one gets a little darker that my usual stories towards the end.

“It’s my own dumb fault,” Cade muttered to himself morosely as he trudged along the muddy, gravelly path next to the barely used ‘B road’ that ran between Wellsford Point (where he lived with his mother and sister), and Spring Grove (the forested area several miles away).

It had been a warm, if a little overcast, day when he had left home, powering down Clifton road on his new mountain bike, a gift from his mother for his twelfth birthday. He made short work of the B869, getting to the turning for the forest trails just before Spring Grove in record time.

He was little more than a blur of red as his shiny new bike, and mop of unruly hair, flashed between trees, and burst through bushes, whooping and hollering all the way, as small woodland creatures scattered at his approach.

Every inch of the forest was familiar to him, he had been running these trails every weekend, and every day during the school holidays, as long as the weather (and his mother) permitted. So it came as a great surprise when he hit an errant rock, and spilled spectacularly off of his bike.

Barely bruised, except for his ego, he suffered little lasting damage. The same could not be said for his new pride and joy though. The front wheel bent just enough to render it un-rideable, and deep scratches along the frame exposing the grey metal underneath, brought the day’s activities to a grinding halt.

“I shouldn’t have being going so fast,” Cade mumbled to himself, kicking a large pebble that offended him by being reminiscent of the instigator of his tumble, which itself had been hurled (with an accompanying expletive that he would not have used in his mother’s presence) deep into the woods, “and I should have been paying more attention.”

A loud **‘beep’** of a car horn sounded from behind him, surprising him, and nearly causing him to drop his bike into the shallow, but very wet and muddy, ditch he was walking next to. “Blood hell!” he called out, as he realised that he once again had not been paying attention, and had wandering a few steps into the road itself.

Quickly, he redirected his uncooperative bike back to the muddy path, and watched as the car slowed, passed him, and pulled in a few yards in front of him. With a sigh he trundled on, edging perilously close to the  ridge of the ditch as he drew level with the car, and tried to keep a safe distance away from its highly polished black body.

“Are you okay, mate?” a pleasantly deep and cheerful voice asked as Cade passed the open passenger’s side window. He looked inside to see a guy (that’s the only way Cade could describe him), brown hair, brown eyes, cleanly shaven face, he looked like he could have been any number of his friends’ dads, he was so generic.

“Yeah,” Cade said, stopping and squatting to look at the man, “I just took a tumble on the trails near Spring Grove.” The man’s face grew concerned as he unbuckled his seatbelt and leaned closer towards Cade.

“You’re not hurt, are you?” he asked, a note of worry in his voice as he cast his eyes over the boy’s dirt spattered t-shirt and arms.

“No, I’m fine, just a few bruises,” Cade told the man, adding, “they don’t hurt or nothing,” to demonstrate his bravery. He lifted the front wheel of his bike off ground to show the man that it had sustained the brunt of the damage, “Bike didn’t do so good though,” he said, “it’s brand new too!”

“Nice!” said the man with a broad grin, “I mean, nice that it’s new, not that it’s wrecked.”

A long second of silence passed between them, which the man eventually broke. “Do you need a lift?  It looks like rain, ” he asked cautiously, “ and  I know you’ve probably been told not to get into cars with strangers, but it’s a long way to the Point, if that’s where you’re going.”

“Yeah,” Cade said, agreeing with the man on all three points as he noticed the dark clouds on the horizon, but hesitated at the threshold, not wanting to commit to getting into the car.

“How about this; is your phone still okay?” the man asked, and after Cade silently nodded, retrieved it from his pocket and showed him, continued to explain his plan, “Great, so you take some photos of my car, including the registration number, and me if you want, upload them to the cloud, and if I do kidnap you, the police will know who did it, right?”

Cade mulled this over for a minute. The plan seemed logical, and he couldn’t find a fault with it, except, “ S o… is this something you do a lot? Pick up kids with broken bikes on the side of the road,  and tell them to do that? ” he asked, shuffling on the spot guiltily, because it sounded like he was accusing the man of doing just that.

The man chuckled and shook his head, “No, I just watch too much daytime TV, all those American cop shows like CSI. I got the idea from there,” then he reached out with his hand, offering it to Cade, “I’m Ben, by the way. Ben Pemberton, if you want to write that down too.”

Cade gave the man a relieved smile and backed his bike up; a difficult task as it seemed to want to move backwards far less than it did forwards, and in its current condition, it didn’t really want to move in any direction.

Abandoning his bike on the road behind Mr Pemberton’s car, Cade proceeded to snap photos of the expensive  machine from all angles, pausing nervously as the man opened his door, got out and stood for a full body shot.

When  the man started contorting himself into silly poses and pulling funny faces, Cade gave up as the last few photos he had taken were blurred beyond recognition because he had been giggling too much, and couldn’t hold his phone steady.

“Let’s get your bike in the boot then,” Mr Pemberton said as he gently placed his hand on Cade’s back and guided him to the rear of the car.

He opened the boot and pulled out two fluffy grey lumps, “Here, hold these a sec,” he told Cade, passing a pair of dense, weighty blankets to the boy, “you’ll have to sit on them, you’re still covered in  muck !”

With surprising efficiency, Mr Pemberton dismantled Cade’s bike and stowed the parts in the boot. “There we go,” he said, gesturing for Cade to follow him to the rear passenger’s door, opening it, grabbing the top blanket and laying it out on the leather seat.

“Here’s the next one, Mr Pemberton,” Cade said handing the man the other blanket, and watching as he carefully tucked it in to every nook and cranny, making sure the none of the leather was exposed.

“Just call me Ben,” the man told Cade as he patted the seat, indicating that the boy could now sit, “but let’s get those muddy shoes off, and into the boot too, that’s okay isn’t it.”

“Yeah, of course… Ben,” Cade replied, sliding into the car’s interior, but keeping his legs dangling outside, watching as Ben squatted down to unfasten his laces, “Oh, I’m Cade. Cade Banks. But everyone just calls me ‘Rollo’.”

Shoes off, and bare toes brushing the luxurious carpet, Cade settled himself into the deep seat as Ben started the engine and pulled away.

§

“I know it’s not going to be long,” Ben said, half-turning towards Cade, but still keeping his eyes on the road, “but do you want to watch something as we go?”

Until that moment, Cade hadn’t noticed that there were small LCD screen built into the back of the headrests, and the one embedded in the front passenger’s seat was at the perfect eye level for him.

“Yeah, that would be cool,” he told the man, “thanks, Ben.”

“The only thing is, it’s in Swedish,” Ben explained as he glanced down at the control, and poked at the touchscreen, switching it away from the GPS display to a list of media files.

“Why’s that?” asked Cade, intrigued. Ben didn’t sound like he was Swedish, or Scandinavian in general, in fact he sounded pretty local, but with an odd twang to his voice that Cade thought he recognised from one of his friends who moved from across the border.

“My brothers,” Ben said distractedly as he flicked through the seemingly endless list, “we went on holiday last year, and they leaned the language, picked it up pretty quickly actually, and this was one of their favourite show to watch when we were there. Our parents pickup up a couple of copies of the whole series when we got back, and gave me one to keep them entertained when I chauffeur them about.”

“Will I be able to understand it?” asked Cade, worried because he had a bit of difficulty keeping up in his English lessons, and was dreading having to start taking French, or German, or Spanish in Year 9.

“It’s animated,” Ben assure him, “so it’s easy to follow. Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll love it once it gets going.”

Just  as Ben said that, the screen burst into life with a jaunty theme tune sung in what Cade had to assume was Swedish, as he had never heard  the language before.

The  screen transitioned to show a boy in a typical  kid’s bedroom scene, with the blue-eyed, blond haired youth waving energetically out at the viewer.

He  looked a bit like Sam, one of his sister’s friends who regularly visited his house, except that Sam had very nice green eyes, a slightly wider nose, and was a bit shorter.

The boy smiled broadly, said something in rapid Swedish, gestured at his own chest, and very clearly said “fuck.”

A blush immediately spread across Cade’s cheeks as his eyes darted to look at Ben to see if the man had heard the same expletive that he had. When he saw no reaction from  him , Cade’s eyes refocused on the screen just in time to see the subtitles (that, unhelpfully, were also in Swedish) disappear.

The very last word on the bottom line was “Fük,” which, with a great sigh of relief, Cade realised must be the boy’s name.

Furrowing his brow in concentration as he tried to follow along with the narrative, Cade watched as Fük slipped out of the room wearing his pyjamas; heard the sound of running water start and stop a few moments later; return dressed in what appeared to be a school uniform.

H e had a hard time keeping up, straining his ears and eyes to hear or see a familiar word or two in the constant stream of unfamiliar one s spoken in an unfamiliar tongue.

Cade watched as  Fük  walked past a school bearing the same insignia as his blazer; dogged around groups of boys and girls; walked further on to a train station, and got on a train.

Fük  continued to narrate his journey to the bewildered Cade, at one point pulling out an older looking mobile phone and having a lengthy, furtive conversation on it.

The blond haired boy departed the train station and walked through the streets of a town, seemingly one he was unfamiliar with, as he kept checking a map and piece of paper with what looked like a list  of names  printed on it.

Eventually the boy got to a different school and waited, maybe even loitered, around the gate; a bell rang twelve time from inside and a swarm of pupils exited, presumably going in search of lunch.

Fük  interacted with several of the boys, the new voices and slight differences in accent s flowing over Cade as he watched, now absorbed by the tale playing out before him. There was an exchange made between  Fük and each off the boys; when a bell rang again, summoning the pupils back to class,  Fük  turned tail and retraced his steps.

§

The  scenes quickly passed in reverse:  Fük  returning to the train; passing his school where his friends were leaving for the day; returning home, showering and appearing at last in his pyjamas, sat on his bed.

Cade saw that  Fük looked fatigued, but a little pleased, as waved back out at him again.

Instinctively, Cade waved back this time, and seemed to receive a grin from the blue-eyed boy.

Looking around his bedroom as if checking that no-one was watching,  Fük  lifted his pyjama top, flashing his thin chest at Cade, and pointing out of the screen towards the green-eyed boy.

The scene paused and Cade waited for a second before mirroring this Swedish counterpart with a giggle.

A few second later,  Fük  smiled back at Cade.

Grinning cheekily,  Fük  pulled his pyjama top entirely off of his body, casting it aside onto the bed next to him, then gestured for Cade to do the same.

Cade glanced over to Ben to see what he was doing. Driving, still driving.  _ “Still?” _ the thought came into Cade’s head before it was quickly dismissed, and he was distracted by  Fük  shifting on his bed.

The man would not notice if he took his shirt off, Cade decided, and even if he did, Cade could just say that he was feeling warm and wanted to cool down. So he did so, taking off his t-shirt, and dropping it onto the blanket covered seat next to him.

Again there was a few seconds delay before  Fük  smiled at him, and with a guilty, daring expression forming on his face, quickly pulled down the front of his pyjamas, briefly revealing a slim, hard cock.

Cade gasped, unsure that he had seen what he thought he seen as  Fük  covered himself up again, and tried to paint an innocent look on his blushing face.

It looked strikingly similar to how Cade imagined that Sam’s looked like, when he was alone with his thoughts at night, laying in bed, his own cock as hard as  Fük’ s.

The Swedish boy gestured again to Cade, inviting him to copy the animated boy’s actions.

The ginger haired boy gulped and waited. And waited. And waited. But  Fük  did not do anything more, he just sat patiently, waiting for… something.

Cade knew what it was of course, but he didn’t dare do it. Second s turned to minutes, which started to turn into tens of minutes as  Fük  sat, barely moving, watching from the screen to see what Cade would do.

With a flash, Cade had pulled down the front of his shorts, revealing his own surprisingly hard cock to the screen, and was immediately rewarded with a double thumbs up and massive, conspiratorial grin from his new friend.

Licking his lips and arching his back,  Fük  pushed his pyjama bottoms down his slim legs, showing off his tight, white, bulging briefs to the gawking Cade.

Even though he knew it was coming, Cade was still shocked at  Fük’ s hand-wavy suggestion that he should follow suit.

Sitting in the back of Ben’s car in just his own tight, green, slightly precum stained briefs was at once a far more daunting, and far more exciting prospect than just being shirtless.

The wait for  Fük  to proceed would be interminable, Cade knew, and only by reciprocating would his guide continue with their naughty new game.

Cade took a deep breath, and being exceptionally careful  to  just grab hold of his shorts, slipped them down his trembling legs, and set them neatly on top of his t-shirt, just as  Fük  had done with his pyjamas.

He moaned with delight as he got another double thumbs up from the boy on the screen.

It was obvious to anyone who  might have been watching the scene unfold on the back seat of Ben’s car to know what was coming next, but still, Cade had a tiny, lingering doubt that it would indeed happen.

With  a sly grin,  Fük  slipp e d his thumbs under the waistband of his briefs, and slid them teasingly down his lithe frame, adding them to the pile of his clothes, and leaving himself fully naked and exposed to Cade’s wide-eyed stare.

Cade panted nervously as he seriously considered copying  Fük.  He stopped breathing momentarily as he felt a tug on his cock. His own hands had taken the decision from him, and were pulling down his briefs, tenting them which his rock hard cock as they were dragged down to his thighs.

He thought that Ben would sur e ly have heard that wet slap of his cock hitting his belly, but the man seemed more concerned with turning right again.  _ “Again?” _ a thought barely formed in Cade’s head before the bubble it was in popped.

§

The two naked boys grinned sheepishly at each other, both examining a  rosy pink, slightly shivering, very erect body displayed before them in all its glory.

C ade could feel the rough material of the seatbelt strung tightly across his chest, holding him in places, the edge wide grey band teasing one of his nipples as he shifted in his seat.

His hard cock bounced against the cool fabric of the strap as the car swayed and jostled him, the contrast between his pale pink shaft and the  dull  fabric of the belt made his immature cock look a little larger as his eyes briefly glanced at it.

In unison two right hands drifted lazily towards two upright stalks,  gently gripping them between delicate fingers, and beginning to lightly stroke their respective cocks.

Cade had never experienced the joy of wanking  himself while watching another boy do the same  (or even seeing another boy wank at all) , and feared that the new sensations the act was eliciting would quickly push him over the edge. The only thing he disliked about his own cock was it propensity  to  shoot far, far too quickly; but as their stroking sped up, and more and more time passed, he discovered that, even though his cock was  throbbing wonderfully, he could not take himself over the precipice.

Luckily for Cade,  Fük  seemed to be having the same issue, panting and moaning in frustration as he could not bring himself to the moment of climax.

He watched the blond boy’s attempts to remedy the situation by sucking the middle finger of his left hand, which Cade eagerly copied, and inserted the very same finger into his quivering pink hole. Cade suffered a moment’ s hesitation before plunging his own finger into his tight ass, regretting  his delay immediately as a soft, warm vice gripped it, and tiny jolts of electricity ran through his body.

Cade’s only interaction with his butt hole up to this point during his masturbatory endeavours, had been a cursory swirling scratch of his fingernail around the wrinkled circumference, a light tickling of the pucker as it winked open for a second at the unusual  attention , and a very brief entrance of the very tip of his finger causing him to cry out, and his hand to retreat, from the unexpectedly powerful sensation—one he hadn’t experienced again until today.

§

A small spasm of fear ran up Cade’s spine  after several minutes of fingering himself brought no relief,  and he worried that he would be stuck like this forever, perpetually on the cusp of orgasm, but unable to finish.

The solution came in the form of a  little packet of white dust that had simultaneously appeared on  Fük’ s bed, and the blanketed seat next to Cade. There was a moment though, where Cade thought that he had seen that little packet flying through the air from the driver’s seat, but he instantly dismissed that as a trick of the light.

Reluctantly releasing his cock, just as  Fük  had done, and extracting his finger from his now itching tunnel, Cade picked up and opened the little packet.

Sucking on the same finger of his left hand, uncaring where it had been seconds ago,  Fük  dunked it into the packet and covered the digit completely with the white du s t.

Nose crinkled in anticipation of the unknown flavour of his  butt , Cade wet his finger again, tasting its unique tang. Earthy, and slightly metallic, it wasn’t as bad as Cade had been imagining, in fact he judged it pretty okay all things considered.

Finger  now covered in dust, poised again to  re- enter his rear entrance, Cade waited for Fük to take the lead and plunge the short appendage deep, deep into himself.

It tingled and fizzed, as it passed his sphincter; the narrow, smooth walls buzzed as they were coated in the liquefying dust; fireworks exploded behind his eyes, deep in his soul, and from a small walnut sized something hidden behind his cock.

Swirling his finger around inside himself, Cade coated every inch that he could with sparkling bliss. His eyes rolled back into his head as he finally shot his water load over his stomach and chest. But he kept stroking and fingering himself as he barely came down from his high.

§

With blank eyes he watch ed thought bubble s appear above  Fük,  explaining what the Swedish boy had been doing during his day, and what else he would have to do to feel this good again.

Lying to his friends about why he missed school that day; travelling to another town where he would not be recognised; selling the white dust to boys his own age after telling them how it would make them feel; sneaking back home and lying to his parents about how his had been.

He saw Fük telling his most trusted friend about the dust; playing him the video; demonstrating to him what the dust could do; watching as he succumbed to the enhanced lust it forced upon him; heard him beg for more, only to be sent to Mr Pemberton to become like himself and Fük.

It went on as Cade absorbed minute after minute of new information: Fük would take the cash he had made to Mr Pemberton; asked the man for some more dust for himself; furnish the man with money, but it was refused; took Mr Pemberton’s offered cock in his hand, and stroked it; got on his knees and sucked it; bent over and get fucked by it after it was laden with dust; and then cum, the only way he ever could from now on.

Cade shot  the last load that he would be able to coax out from his body by himself, all over his torso, streaking his sweaty, flushed skin with splotches of white goo.

§

“There you go,” Mr Pemberton said in is pleasant, deep voice as he handed Cade a backpack, and his phone back.

It felt heavy as Cade pulled it over his shoulder, the pound of product dived up into individual bags, a cheap pre-paid mobile phone, a map  to and list of school s in the neighbouring county, and a Blu-ray Disc copy of  Fük’ s video.

“Whatever,” said Cade sullenly, picking at the front of his t-shirt, trying to get it to stop sticking to the viscous streaks still covering his belly and chest.

He flicked his hair in annoyance  as he  turned and walked away from the man, pushing his broken bike, and heading along the  final road  to get to his house.

L uckily, his mother took his subdued mood to be from the damage he had cause to his precious bike, and his slightly odd gait, and frequent gropes of his buttocks, to be from a slight injury to an area he was too embarrassed to show her.

Little did she know that the sumptuous meal that he was sharing with her and his sister did nothing to  fill the void  of gnawing need in the pit of his stomach, and  that  his constant fidgeting at the table, and before hand , was not because of a bruised backside, but a yearning for it to be filled.

That night he laid on top of his own bed, frantically pumping one, two, three fingers into his aching ass, trying to scratch the itch. Four finger s , almost his entire hand  it felt like  now , something had to be able to alleviate the  burning  in his newly awakened button.

Picking up his phone as his fist became a blur, frisking his throbbing, aching shaft, he  used his sticky, ass-juice covered hand to flick to an image of Elton Stafford, the hot, dark skinned  Year 10 that he had  sp ied on , and secretly photographed, in the changing room showers a few weeks ago when he had just happened to be early for P.E.

The clear image of the thick brown shaft, along with him imagining it pounding his tight pink hole as hot water caressed his back, his slim, pale body pressed against the cool tiles, made him drop the device onto his heaving chest, and force his fingers back into his butt, sending his squirming fingers into overdrive, spreading his ass wider, and poking mercilessly into his pulsating prostate.

With a grunt of despair, he abandoned the tantalizing image  as it failed to produce the explosive result he desired, turning instead, grudgingly, to his memory of the man who was the cause of all of his troubles.

In attempt to cum just once more by his own hands, he tried to  picture Mr Pemberton’ s handsome face and imagine his hitherto unseen cock, wide and long, coated in the dust that would finally allow him to release the jizz filling up his  aching  balls, to trick himself that his slim fingers were the real thing, and had the power to end his torment.

But he knew it was  ultimately  hopeless. The only thing that would relieve him of the maddening, titillating, tingling at the very core of his being was to skip school tomorrow, sell that awful, wonderful stuff to unsuspecting boys like him, and meet Mr Pemberton goodness knows when for a humiliatingly hard  and deep fucking  with the man’s real,  rock hard  dick .

§


End file.
